Mistakes
by Squidalicious
Summary: When a single, drunken mistake forces Misaki to question his boyfriend's feelings for him, Akihiko will do anything to gain back his trust. But as past secrets are revealed and more obstacles arise, their relationship seems doomed to heartbreak. Both are desperate to find happiness again, but how many mistakes will it take before they do?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello there! Thank you for clicking on my story. This is my first ever fanfiction, though I've been wanting to write a JR fic for a while :3. The story takes place immediately after season 3 of the anime (I'm ignoring the manga because I haven't read it). There's going to be quite a bit of drama and stuff, but I will be sure to include some nice, fluffy chapters too! I will try and make this as good as I can, so I really hope you will enjoy it. If you have time, please leave me a review telling me what you think of the writing and the story! :)**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou Romantica**

* * *

"Gochisosamadeshita," the Takahashis plus Usagi-san chorused. They were gathered around the dining table in the author's luxurious condo, plates and bowls completely cleared.

Smiling broadly, Takahiro lifted his glass. "Allow me to say it one more time: Congratulations on your award, Usagi! And Misaki, happy birthday!"

Mimicking his brother, Misaki raised his own glass, as did Usagi-san and Manami. The four glasses clinked against one another merrily (Mahiro tried to copy them, but only succeeded in knocking over his empty cup). Outside, dusk was giving way to dark, and the warm overhead lights in the kitchen illuminated the family's smiling faces.

"Thanks, Nii-chan," the younger brother said, meeting first Takahiro's, then Manami's, and finally Usagi-san's glass. They lingered for a moment or two before drinking, never breaking eye contact. Usagi-san grinned at him from across the table, and Misaki shyly smiled back, cheeks pinking. He was happier than he had been in a long time.

"Thank _you_ , Misaki-kun," Manami was saying, "That was delicious!"

"Hm?" Absorbed in his rabbit's gaze, Misaki hastily cleared his throat before replying. "Oh, uh, I'm glad you enjoyed it, Nee-chan," he said as he stood to clear the table. Mahiro began squirming in the high chair, waving his plastic spoon around and burbling.

"I should get him to bed," said Manami, moving to scoop up the one-year-old, "Come on, Mahiro. Time for your bedtime story."

"Nigh', Mitaki! Nigh' Unagi!"

Everyone laughed but Usagi-san, whose face morphed back into its signature scowl. Perhaps being referred to as an eel reminded him of the pets he'd neglected to take care of.

Watching as Takahiro stood to kiss his wife and son goodnight, Misaki smiled to himself. If he had to choose a best birthday since he lost his parents, it would almost certainly be his twenty-second. It might not have been the most exotic place to visit, but he'd had such a wonderful, memorable time in Kamakura.

 _Maybe it was simply because Usagi-san was with me_.

Admittedly, it had been kind of a shock running into Ijuuin-sensei so unexpectedly, but even that apparently had its upsides; it seemed Usagi-san had finally let go of his insecurity after seeing Misaki reject the mangaka.

Now, after spending an evening having fun with his family, Misaki felt like there wasn't much more he could possibly have asked for. Everyone had been so kind to him; he'd had birthday cards, cake, and such lovely, thoughtful gifts from almost everyone he knew (Aikawa-san, Todo, Sumi-senpai, and of course the whole crazy Usami clan…). He was particularly fond of his new briefcase.

 _Dumb rabbit, always throwing away his money on me…_

Despite his sour thoughts, however, Misaki knew he was incredibly grateful for everyone's kindness, his boyfriend being no exception. Misaki felt a warm glow of happiness spreading through him- especially when he remembered the previous night at the hotel, when Usagi-san had given him his other 'present'…

Feeling his face heat up very quickly, Misaki forced away any untoward thoughts and busied himself with the dishes with a sudden burst of energy. _Damn that Usagi…_

Meanwhile, Takahiro had been chatting to the author. "It's still early, you guys," he was saying, "How about we open the wine?"

Pushing his chair back, Usagi-san began gathering plates and handing them to his flatmate. "Sure," he said, "Misaki?"

Misaki finished stacking the dishwasher and slammed it shut. "Ah, sorry, Nii-chan," he said, rubbing the back of his head, "I'm a little sleepy, and I have work tomorrow, so I think I'll just turn in…"

Actually, he wasn't really all that tired, but he was sure his brother would like some time alone with his best friend. To catch up, just the two of them.

As Takahiro made for the kitchen to fetch the bottle, Usagi-san approached his boyfriend. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught Misaki's wrist and drew him near to steal a quick, chaste kiss. Immediately, the boy flushed and jumped away.

"Usagi-san!" he hissed, eyes darting for the kitchen. Stupid rabbit- Takahiro was right there!

As usual, the only response from Usagi-san was a low chuckle and that infuriating smirk. Leaning down, his lips brushed Misaki's ear as he whispered: "Sweet dreams."

With a half-hearted "Moron…" under his breath, Misaki made for the stairs, calling goodnight to his Nii-chan on his way up.

As he quickly climbed the staircase, the boy almost forgot to turn right instead of left (as _if_ he could sleep in Usagi-san's room with his brother's family there). It felt strange getting ready for bed in his old room; he hardly ever used it anymore, unless it was to do homework on the computer, or when he was worn out by his rabbit and needed a place to hide. In truth, the only reason he and Usagi-san hadn't gotten rid of his bed was to avoid suspicion when Takahiro came over.

As he sat cross-legged against the headboard, Misaki chewed his lip thoughtfully. Though he had his reasons, something about deceiving his brother like this just didn't seem right. There was a part of him that wanted to tell Takahiro about him and Usagi-san; he deserved to know the truth, after all. Usagi-san wouldn't have a problem if the truth came out, but with Misaki, it was a different story.

 _It's not like we're doing anything to be ashamed of… Right?_

However, the uncertainty of how his brother would react always kept Misaki from saying anything. He knew Takahiro cared very much for the pair, but if they were to reveal the true nature of their relationship to him, would he ever be able to accept it? Especially after being kept in the dark for over three years…

Guilty unease swept over Misaki, tying his stomach in knots. The longer he put off telling the truth, the more deceitful he felt. Even so, he realised, he couldn't keep up the charade for much longer- at least, not if he wanted to stay with Usagi-san. In just a few months' time (assuming he could graduate without any problems) he'd be a working adult, with no real excuse to be mooching off his rich landlord. Sooner or later, Takahiro would start asking questions. Questions that Misaki would eventually have to answer…

 _Maybe… Maybe I should just tell him. Get it over with._

The very idea made Misaki's gut twist. No, he couldn't. Not yet. Everything was going so well: he had his good grades, his new friend Todo, his job offer… Not to mention, his relationship with Usagi-san was stronger than ever. If they told Takahiro, and he reacted badly, would it drive them apart?

Misaki shook his head, pushing any and all bothersome thoughts from his mind. Now wasn't the time. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration, after all. He could worry about such things later. For now, he was content knowing that his whole family was here, together, happy and safe.

 _It looks like my wishes might really come true_ , he thought laughingly, _If I'd only get taller, I might start believing in magic._

In the next room, Misaki could hear Mahiro giggling as his mother read to him in a soft, smiling voice. From downstairs, the sound of glasses clinking mingled with that of Usagi-san and Takahiro, chatting and laughing away with each other. He smiled, lying down and snuggling into his pillow.

 _As long as they're happy… then I'm really happy, too._

* * *

By midnight, the wine bottle was almost empty. The two best friends, from the moment they sat down, had talked about anything and everything: their memories from high school, their jobs, their families… Akihiko had almost forgotten how much he enjoyed his conversations with Takahiro. While he'd long since gotten over his crush on the man, he was still an old and dear friend and Akihiko loved his company. There were very few that the author felt truly comfortable around, but when he was with Takahiro, they talked and laughed and shared as easily as they breathed.

Akihiko tried his best not to snigger at his friend, who sat opposite him with a drunken flush across his cheeks, hiccupping occasionally. Takahiro always was kind of a lightweight. At this point, he was only slightly buzzed, but already he was blabbering away as he was wont to do when intoxicated. Taking a sip from his own glass, Akihiko smiled as he listened to the dark-haired man ramble on.

"But really, Usagi," he was saying, "Thank you so much for taking such good care of Misaki all this time. I don't know where he'd be without you…" he took another gulp of wine.

Misaki… the only person who made him as happy as Takahiro, if not more so. Just the mention of his name made Akihiko smile softly. "It's no trouble at all, Takahiro. He's been a huge help to me."

In reality, Akihiko didn't know where _he'd_ be without Misaki.

"No, really- hic- we're indebted to you, Usagi," the tipsy man said, "You've done so much for us. We're so grateful!"

"I'm glad to hear it…" he murmured, only half listening as he drained his glass. He hadn't had much to drink, but he felt wonderful nonetheless. The wine was good, his new book was a success, and most importantly of all, his second wish had come true: Misaki had enjoyed his birthday. Now, spending the evening with his closest friend, everything seemed to Akihiko to be just perfect. Noticing the jar full of marbles on the coffee table, he allowed himself a small, secret smile.

"Well, at least you won't have to put him up for much longer."

Akihiko looked up. "Huh?"

"Misaki, I mean," said Takahiro, leaning against the deep pink armrest, "Now that he has his job at Marukawa, he'll be able to move out."

Slowly, Akihiko set down his glass. Since their discussion at the hotel a few months ago, he had made certain that Misaki wasn't going anywhere, but of course Takahiro didn't know that.

"I don't have any problem with him staying here, though…"

"I know, I know," Takahiro said, "But that's because you're a great guy, Usagi. Misaki's a- hic- a good boy, but like I said, he can't go on taking advantage of other people's kindness. He needs to- hic- make his own way in this world."

Inwardly, Akihiko sighed. Takahiro, as oblivious as ever… How could he convince him otherwise- that Misaki could and should stay with him?

"And also…"

"Hm?"

Takahiro was staring into space, eyes glazed over dreamily behind his glasses. "Once Misaki gets his own place, I'm sure it won't be long before he gets himself a girlfriend, too."

 _Girlfriend?_

Gritting his teeth, the author looked away. Despite Misaki's previous confessions, he was still terribly insecure when it came to the boy's affections. The idea of some flirtatious, giggling girl coming and stealing Misaki away from him was more than enough to dampen Akihiko's mood.

"It would make me so happy," Takahiro continued, his tongue loosened up considerably by the alcohol, "If Misaki were to find someone as amazing as my Manami… If he married and started his own family… I'd love that so much…"

The elder Takahashi brother was cut off with a loud hiccup. He chuckled, clumsily setting his empty glass down on the table. "And then, you can finally have the place to yourself again- Usagi the loner!"

Akihiko remained perfectly still, silver bangs obscuring his vision. Takahiro was wrong. He didn't _want_ to be alone anymore.

 _Does that mean Takahiro will never accept us? Does he think Misaki would be better off without me?_ Would _he?_

Everything Takahiro had- and hadn't- said was spinning around the author's mind (was that why he was dizzy, or was it the wine?), creating a whirlwind of troubles and doubts.

As usual, Takahiro didn't even notice. He moved straight on, starting a meaningless, drunken conversation about sushi or something. His friend could hardly hear him.

"Huh? Usagi, where are you going?" he asked, sitting up a little straighter as Akihiko rose and headed for the kitchen.

He opened the fridge. "To get more alcohol."

* * *

A little over an hour later, it was pitch dark outside the condo, and all its lights were out except for the ones in the living room. Two wine bottles- a half-full one and an empty one on its side- lay on the table. The glasses beside it had been emptied and refilled multiple times.

Akihiko slumped in the corner of the sofa, amethyst eyes unfocused and his pale face slightly flushed. How long had he and Takahiro been here? And… how many glasses of wine had he had? _Let's see…_ He tried to count on his fingers, but they mutated in front of his eyes and he couldn't tell if he was holding up two or ten.

On the other side of the coffee table, Takahiro was practically falling off the sofa. The blush on his face had darkened, and his glasses hung slightly askew. He was laughing hysterically (even though a disgruntled Manami had come down less than fifteen minutes ago, asking them to be quiet in case they woke Mahiro). Akihiko wasn't even sure what he was laughing about anymore. Through the drunken haze, he could only focus on one thing.

 _Misaki…_

He wasn't really going to move out, right? Takahiro had some nerve, going on about Misaki leaving and starting a family and all that nonsense. He didn't need a girlfriend; he had Akihiko. Nobody loved Misaki more than him… Not Takahiro, not some girl, not even that annoying mangaka. Akihiko's blood boiled at the memory of that man. How dare he try and take Misaki away! Misaki was… He was…

"Mine…"

"Whatsh tha', Ushagi?" Takahiro slurred, lolling around on the sofa cushions.

Under his breath, Akihiko let out a low growl. "He's _mine_! I won't let him… won't let him go…" the living room was starting to tilt.

"Won' let- hic- who now?" he asked, and started spluttering again, "What're you talkin' about, Usagi? How- hic- how much wine have you had?"

As Takahiro continued to guffaw, Akihiko glared at him from behind his messy hair. He was so _loud_ … It was like this whenever they drank together. Why couldn't he be more like Misaki? When Misaki was drunk, he got all sleepy and adorable. Not like Takahiro, laughing his ass off at something that wasn't even funny.

Swaying, Akihiko got to his feet, toppling over beside Takahiro and nearly crushing him. "Sh-shut up, Takahiro…" he grumbled, the beginnings of a headache stirring at his temples. His friend, however, went right on laughing. For some reason, he was really pissing Akihiko off. Tears of laughter were forming in the corners of Takahiro's deep, purple eyes. Akihiko frowned. Why couldn't he have large, green eyes? And messy, chocolate coloured hair? Why couldn't it be _Misaki_ here beside him?

Whether it was from tears or just the alcohol, Akihiko couldn't tell, but his vision was blurry. Takahiro had become a fuzzy shape on the sofa. In fact, Akihiko could almost imagine it was Misaki in front of him instead. Squinting, he tilted his head. Now that he thought about it, Takahiro _was_ kind of similar to Misaki. They were brothers, after all.

 _Misaki_ … Akihiko felt his chest tighten. His mind was foggy from the wine, but he still remembered his friend's words. What if what Takahiro said was true? He didn't want Misaki to go… Thinking about it made his eyes sting and his chest ache even more. In an attempt to numb the pain, he grabbed the bottle- the one that still had some wine left in it- and poured himself another glass, spilling a fair bit onto the table as he did so.

"Hey- hic- Usagi? Usagi, what're you doin'?" Takahiro said between giggles, "Haven't you had en- hic- enough?"

Scowling, the author began gulping back the bitter, red liquid. Who was Takahiro to tell him when he'd had enough? He was Usami Akihiko, and he'd stop drinking whenever the hell he wanted to.

By the time his glass was empty, Takahiro was upright again. One hand clutched at his stomach. "Ugh… I don't- hic- feel so good, Usagi…"

Truth be told, neither did Akihiko. Some of his anger had dissolved, but his head was spinning, and suddenly he didn't know which way was up anymore. What was Takahiro saying?

 _Usagi…_ He remembered (albeit with some difficulty) when Takahiro had first called him that. He'd never been given a nickname before. It was around then, he was pretty sure, that he began to fall in love with Takahiro. As he continued to stare at his friend, Akihiko remembered just how badly he'd wanted the man all those years. He remembered the way his heart would pound whenever Takahiro was near, the warm sensation he felt whenever they embraced, and how all he had wanted to do whenever he looked at his friend's smiling face was grab it and kiss its lips…

"Usagi?"

Slowly, Akihiko looked up at his friend with bleary eyes. It took a while for him to swim into focus, but when he did, the drunken Akihiko's breath hitched. Takahiro's usually sleek, black hair was ruffled, sticking out at odd angles in a way that was not unattractive. He had removed his glasses, and his violet eyes were soft and half-lidded over his flushed cheeks.

 _Takahiro is…_ hot.

It could have been the wine, but this, coupled with Akihiko's scrambled memories, brought on a bizarre wave of affection for his friend. In fact, as Akihiko stared into those eyes as he so often had in those ten long years, he was hit with a sudden, intense desire.

"Wh- Usagi? What're you-?"

He was cut off as Akihiko pushed him down by his shoulders, crawling along the length of his body until his face was in front of Takahiro's. He looked intently down at the man and Takahiro, confused and intoxicated, stared back.

The author's mind was all but shutting down as he leaned down towards the face below him. Blood was pounding in his ears, and all he could feel were the sensations coursing through him like tidal waves.

"Takahiro…" he whispered huskily.

Takahiro… His first love.

Before he even realised it himself, Akihiko's lips brushed against Takahiro's. The tang of alcohol lingered on his warm breath as he pressed himself to the man's lean, warm body. He felt like he was going wild. He had to have this… Had to have him…

"… Usagi-san?"

Akihiko stopped, centimetres from Takahiro's face. He'd heard his nickname again, but this time, it hadn't come from the man beneath him. This wasn't Takahiro's voice; no, he _knew_ this voice…

Suddenly, Akihiko felt sick. His mind was clouded over with wine and lust, and his temples throbbed. What was going on? With great effort, he pushed himself up on his arms, still hovering over the other man as he turned his head in the direction of the new voice. His vision was darkening at the edges. Seconds before blacking out, he had just enough time to register the huge, green eyes staring at him and Takahiro from across the room.

* * *

 **Sooo, what did you think? Sorry if it wasn't a particularly good first chapter- I will try and make the next one better! I would really like to know what I can do to improve my writing skills, so if anyone could leave me a review with some pointers/corrections/opinions, it would be very much appreciated. :)**

 **Anyway, next time you'll see how Misaki reacts...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi again! I'd like to say thank you to everyone for your lovely reviews- they were really encouraging! I'm very glad that people seemed to enjoy the first chapter. I hope you like this next one, too- I've tried to make Misaki's reaction realistic and suited to his character. Hope it's satisfactory! :)**

* * *

Misaki stood on the stairs, frozen mid-step, as he stared and stared at the scene in front of him. His lips were parted slightly, his eyes wide and his face white.

 _This isn't happening. I'm dreaming._

He'd awoken in the early hours to some strange noise downstairs. Thinking nothing of it, Misaki had gone in search of a glass of water, expecting to see Usagi-san and Takahiro either still talking or asleep in the living room. But instead, there was… this.

He didn't want to believe what he was seeing, but it was right there before him, irrefutable. His brother, stretched out and vulnerable on the couch. And… Usagi-san, leaning over him, gazing at Takahiro as he moved ever closer to him. Misaki's heart sank into his stomach as he saw him- his very own rabbit- take Takahiro's face in his hands.

 _What the hell?_

Though Misaki couldn't hear him, he saw his boyfriend's mouth murmuring a name: the name of his brother. Amethyst eyes began to drift shut as Usagi-san, to Misaki's horror, lowered his lips to Takahiro's.

 _But…_

At last, Misaki found his voice. "… Usagi-san?" He meant to shout it, but it came out like more of a whimper.

At the sound of his name, Usagi-san paused. He looked up, but his dull eyes held little recognition as he stared at Misaki and Misaki stared back. He looked disoriented. After what felt like hours but was probably only a few seconds, Usagi-san lowered his head and slumped over Takahiro, out like a light.

"Ow…" Takahiro moaned, trying feebly to shift the dead weight of his friend, "Usagi, get- hic- get off me, will ya?"

Shakily, Misaki managed to descend the last few stairs. "What's going on?" he asked quietly, trying to keep his voice steady.

Noticing him for the first time, Takahiro looked up. He was in a similar state to Usagi-san (who was still hanging off his friend). "Oh- hic- hey, Mishaki. Ummm… I don' know. I think I- hic- had too much to drink." He said, his words melding together. He reeked of alcohol.

"Nii-chan," he said, eyes still fixed on his boyfriend, "You and U-Usagi-san… What were you…?"

He needed an answer, needed some sort of explanation for… whatever was happening here. Unfortunately, neither of the other two men were in any position to give him one. Takahiro, in his usual fashion, started to ramble. "Ummm… We had shum wine, but then it ran out, so we got more wine, aaand… Manami came and told us to shut up- oh, yeah," he said, hiccupping, "Manami. I should pro'lly… get to bed. Ushagi, get off me…"

Grunting, he tried again to push his slumbering friend away. "Misaki, help me- Misaki?"

But Misaki was already retreating back to his room, his pace quickening with every step. Slamming his way inside, he spun around and pressed his back against the door. His mind was reeling. Everything he'd just seen kept replaying inside his head, over and over again.

 _Usagi-san and Nii-chan…_

It was more than Misaki could comprehend. Slowly, he sank to the floor, holding his head in his hands. Why? Why, in the world, would Usagi-san _do_ that? There had been such desire in his eyes as he brought Takahiro to his lips- those eyes and those lips, which Misaki had thought were only for him. The way he touched Takahiro with his large, cool hands…

Misaki's insides were tearing themselves apart. Usagi-san was only supposed to touch _him_ that way, look at _him_ like that, whisper _his_ name!

 _Calm down, Misaki_ , he thought, releasing the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, _You're overreacting. Usagi-san didn't know- he's drunk. That's why he… Why he…_

Fresh, awful memories flashed in his mind again, and Misaki screwed his eyes shut. He wanted so badly to believe himself- that Usagi-san's actions didn't mean anything- but no matter what he told himself, he could feel that old, familiar sense of doubt creeping up on him. Even if Usagi-san was drunk enough to pass out, why would he look at Takahiro that way, touch him in that way, unless…?

His last image of his brother and his boyfriend invaded his mind; in fact, Usagi-san looked so much like he had on that day Misaki first met him- _when he'd been in love with Takahiro_ \- it made him sick. It hurt enough seeing _anyone_ \- be it Takahiro or otherwise- in the arms of his rabbit, but that wasn't the only think making Misaki's heart thunder. Though he tried to keep it at bay, a terrible, terrible thought forced its way into his mind.

 _Could he… Could Usagi-san still be in love with Nii-chan?_

… No. Misaki shook his head. No, no, no. That wasn't possible. The author's crush on Takahiro was a thing of the past; Usagi-san only wanted _him_ now. Didn't he? That was what he always said.

There had to be some other reason. Maybe Usagi-san had just… lost his balance and fallen, or something? He knew it was a pathetic attempt at justification even as it entered his head, but he was desperate for some sort of excuse.

 _Of course he didn't fall, moron. He tried to kiss Nii-chan! You_ saw _him!_

But… there was no way Usagi-san would do something like that! There _had_ to be a reasonable explanation.

Nevertheless, the doubt was still there, breathing down Misaki's neck as he shivered in the dark. He could barely see a thing- except, of course, for the many, many memories of Usagi-san and his brother. In his mind's eye, he could see them hugging, laughing, smiling at one another… Takahiro in the hall at the old apartment, trapped between Usagi-san and the wall… Usagi-san downstairs, right now, draped over Takahiro. Longingly uttering _his_ name, not Misaki's.

The boy started breathing rapidly. What he had witnessed in the living room seemed to have dredged up all of Misaki's old insecurities and worries. What if… What if Usagi-san wasn't over Takahiro after all? He blanched.

For more than thirteen years, they'd been so close; the short time Misaki had known Usagi-san didn't even begin to compare. _Just like_ I _could never compare to Nii-chan_ , he thought miserably. But if Usagi-san really did still love Takahiro, then… Why had he even bothered with Misaki in the first place? What did that make him?

 _Isn't it obvious?_ Said a cruel, jeering voice in the back of his brain, _He just keeps you around because you're the closest thing he can get to your brother. He doesn't care about you- You're just a replacement._

Shaking, Misaki rested his head on his folded arms. A muffled sob rose in his throat. It wasn't true. He couldn't, _wouldn't_ believe it. Usagi-san loved him. He had to- he told him every day!

 _He doesn't mean it, you idiot. He just says that so you'll stay. And you fell for it. You fell for_ him _, and you let him use you as a substitute for Nii-chan._

Misaki bit down on his trembling lower lip. "It's not true…"

 _Then how do you explain what you just saw?_

Keeping his eyes tightly shut, Misaki drew his knees in even further. An invisible hand was gripping his heart. Was he really a replacement? Was that truly all he meant to Usagi-san, the man who had become so much to him? If it was true, then everything he thought he knew about Usagi-san, everything he'd said, was a _lie_.

 _No… I won't accept it…_

 _Fine then, don't. Go on being Usagi-san's little toy. Keep deluding yourself into thinking he loves you._

All at once, more memories flooded Misaki's mind. There was no Takahiro this time, only his dear rabbit.

" _I love you, Misaki."_

Whenever he uttered those three words- even if it was merely a memory- Misaki's heart would stop for a second. Whenever Usagi-san held him, kissed him, looked into his eyes, Misaki felt more loved than anyone else in the world. Usagi-san treated him like he was precious to him- and Misaki had thought he _was_. But now, he found himself wondering, whenever Usagi-san said those words… Was he talking to Misaki, or Takahiro?

Was he loving him, or just using him?

"Usagi… Why?" _I really thought you loved me…_

Nobody heard Misaki as the first few sobs escaped him. While the rest of the building slept, he folded into himself and let his tears fall.

* * *

Dust motes danced in the early morning sunlight, streaming in through the condo's huge windows. Its rays spilled over the living room's hardwood floors. They shone through the empty wine bottles and glass marbles, covering the coffee table with rainbow-coloured orbs. They fell across the man on the couch, still sleeping exactly where he'd fallen.

Slowly, Akihiko cracked his eyes open, then immediately scrunched them closed again. He lifted one of his arms, which was strangely heavy, and used it to shield his face from the sunlight. His temples were throbbing, and his mouth was drier than the Sahara.

"Ugh… My head…" he groaned as he sat up, running a hand through his wild, silver hair. He was a mess. Looking down at himself, he saw his rumpled shirt blotted with several dark red stains. Akihiko grimaced as he caught sight of the pair of bottles on the table. _Why did I think that was a good idea?_

Squinting, he looked around ( _so bright…_ ). His memory of the previous night was a total blank, but Takahiro must have somehow staggered his way back to the guest bedroom, because he was nowhere to be seen. As Akihiko's senses gradually returned to him, he noticed he could smell eggs frying, and rice and miso soup- and coffee. God, he needed a coffee. And a cigarette.

"Misaki?" he called out. His voice was hoarse, and the sound of it sent a fresh stab of pain through his aching head.

His response was slightly delayed. "What?"

"Can you bring me some coffee? My head is killing me," he said, popping his shoulders. He hated falling asleep on the couch- usually, Misaki helped him upstairs or at least covered him with a blanket. He and Takahiro must have been up pretty late.

Loud banging and clanging noises were sounding from the kitchen. Each one jarred Akihiko's head, and he fumbled around on the table for a pack of smokes. "Keep it down, will you?" he grumbled quietly, rubbing his morning-stubbled face.

Finally, Misaki emerged. His footsteps were like gunshots against the wooden floorboards. Clamping a cigarette between his teeth, Akihiko dug into his pocket for a lighter. "Misaki, do you have to be so loud?" he complained.

His boyfriend was just a dark shape against the harsh light. Akihiko heard him breathe in and out through his nose before answering. "Sorry."

Taking a long drag, Akihiko sank back into the sofa. He wanted to enjoy a few minutes of peace before Takahiro's kid started screaming and running all over the place.

"Did you sleep well?" Misaki asked, not moving from his spot by the couch.

"Mm-hm."

"You enjoy… catching up, with Nii-chan last night?"

"Yeah," said Akihiko, "At least until we opened the second bottle. Then I have no idea what happened."

A pause. "So… you don't remember anything?"

Why was he asking so many questions? It was too early for this. "Nope," he said curtly, and blew out a cloud of smoke.

"Nothing at all?"

Akihiko let out a frustrated sigh. The pain at his temples was worsening by the second. " _No_ , Misaki. Can you just give me my coffee? I've got a hangover the size of Honshu."

For a moment, Misaki didn't say anything. Next, however, Akihiko hissed in pain as Misaki slammed the mug down on the table in front of him. The author glared after his boyfriend as he stomped away. What was he so sulky about?

Sighing, Akihiko took two big gulps of his coffee and rubbed his eyes, trying to get rid of the grittiness. He wondered if Takahiro was suffering too. Thankfully, the combination of caffeine and nicotine helped to soothe his head a little, and he was able to blink away some of the soreness.

Misaki was over by the entryway, throwing on his jacket and pushing his feet into his shoes. For some reason, he seemed to be doing everything very… forcefully. As he walked back over to the coffee table to grab his keys, Akihiko frowned. His boyfriend's face was ashen, and his green eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot.

"Misaki," he said, straightening a little, "Are you okay?"

"… I'm fine," he said, avoiding the author's eyes.

Akihiko wasn't convinced, but with Misaki in this kind of mood, he thought it best not to push any further. Instead, he asked: "Where are you going?"

"Work."

"I thought you didn't have to be in until noon."

"They asked me to come in early," he kept speaking in that same, monotonous voice as he turned his back and walked away. He slammed the door behind him- making Akihiko wince- and left without even saying goodbye.

 _What's with him?_ Akihiko closed his eyes once more as he took another sip of coffee. He hoped that, whatever the cause of Misaki's bad mood, it was something small that he'd quickly get over. And if it wasn't, he hoped more than anything that Misaki wouldn't go keeping it bottled up like he usually did. (Akihiko always hated that- if they were supposed to be dating, why couldn't Misaki just talk to him?)

He took another drag, alternating between drinking and smoking. It was probably nothing. By the time Misaki came home, he'd be back to his old self. After all, Akihiko had scarcely seen the boy as happy as he was at their joint party, and that was just yesterday; nothing terrible could have happened in such a short space of time. Tiredly, Akihiko let out yet another smoky breath.

How bad could it be?

* * *

 **I had to split this chapter up because it was getting too long, but I will have the next part up ASAP. Anyhow, what did you think? I tried to make this chapter as good as the last one, but again, if anyone notices any errors or points for improvement, please let me know. Thank you for reading! :)**

 **P.S. I know Usagi-san is acting like a bit of a jerk towards the end, but you know what he's like when he wakes up- plus he's hungover. XD**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's the next bit! I'm having a lot of fun writing this :)**

* * *

 _You should have just told him._

Above Tokyo, the sun was lowering, turning the pale blue sky a peachy colour. Misaki had spent the morning wandering around in the warm, summer sun (he'd lied about being called in early- he just wanted an excuse to leave the condo) and the afternoon trying to distract himself with work. He was so reluctant to return home, in fact, that he'd stayed for an extra hour before Aikawa-san convinced him to leave.

Now, walking alone through the emptying streets, Misaki's mind had nowhere to go but back to last night. Back to that morning. Back to Usagi-san.

He'd so hoped for his boyfriend to apologize to him when he woke up- to grab his hands and tell him how sorry he was; to say no, he didn't still love Takahiro; yes, of course Misaki was the only one for him; it was all a huge misunderstanding, and would Misaki please forgive him? Whether or not he _would_ forgive Usagi-san, Misaki hadn't decided, but at the very least, he'd been hoping for some kind of reassurance that the man still cared about him, and that Misaki was just overthinking things last night.

So when it turned out Usagi-san didn't even _remember_ what awful thing he'd done, Misaki almost wanted to scream in aggravation. On top of that, after the way Usagi-san had treated him earlier- the rude ass- Misaki found he couldn't even look the man in the face without wanting to punch it. Part of him knew it would be simpler to just tell his boyfriend how he was feeling, but another childish, petty part of him wanted Usagi-san to figure it out for himself.

 _I mean, I don't think he even noticed I was upset…_ As he'd left the condo that morning, Misaki had felt his heartache shift into something cold and bitter.

Damn that Usagi. Damn him for trying to kiss Takahiro. Damn him for not remembering. And damn him, damn him, damn him for making Misaki fall in love with him. He felt like such a fool; he'd thought he was so special, so important, so loved, when all this time, Usagi-san had just been playing him. Weaving blindly in and out of passers-by as he walked on, Misaki gripped the handle of his messenger bag until his knuckles turned white. He was angry- no, he was furious with Usagi-san, but he was still horribly, hopelessly in love with him, too, and it hurt so much.

Feeling another bout of tears coming on, Misaki stopped and took a deep breath. He couldn't go home yet, he realised. If he saw Usagi-san again, he might lose it, and he couldn't do that; Takahiro was still there.

 _I'm just getting myself more and more worked up. Maybe I need to talk to someone._

But the question, Misaki thought as he sauntered through the gates of a nearby park, was who? Not many people even knew about his relationship with Usagi-san, so he couldn't ask them for advice. Sighing, he sat heavily on a wooden bench beside the path. He had a great view of the park, which looked lovely in the orangey, evening light, but Misaki was in no mood to admire it. His head was still heavy from lack of sleep, and he rested it on his hand.

He was not asking any of the Usamis. That was an absolute definite; whenever Misaki got involved with anyone from that family, it only complicated things. He supposed he could talk to Aikawa-san or Isaka-san, but he didn't really feel comfortable telling this sort of thing to his superiors. He'd much rather talk to a friend, but Misaki didn't have many of those, either.

"Sumi-senpai already knows… Maybe I could call him." Misaki said to himself. He felt bad about troubling his friend, but he found he really needed someone right now. He dug out his phone. Sumi would understand, right?

"Misaki, it's been a while," came his senpai's familiar voice, "Have a good birthday?"

"Um, yeah, thanks," he said, clearing his throat awkwardly, "Um, how are you, senpai?"

"Pretty good. You?"

"Well, uh…" _This is harder than I thought it would be…_

There was a pause. "Misaki? Are you okay?"

Misaki exhaled. "No," he admitted.

Sumi must have known that Misaki wouldn't say that unless something was really, seriously wrong. In the three-and-a-half years they'd been friends, Misaki had scarcely asked Sumi for anything, lest he burden him with his problems.

"Tell me everything," Sumi said, and Misaki did.

* * *

It felt good to let off some steam via someone else. Misaki tried to be as brief as possible, but Sumi didn't seem to mind listening. He was patient as Misaki explained his situation, making little sounds of understanding every now and then. When Misaki was finished he felt considerably lighter, as if putting his feelings into words had somehow helped.

Sumi blew a long breath into the phone. "That's gotta hurt. Sorry, man."

"Thanks," Misaki mumbled, "I just don't know what to do, senpai."

"Wait, so…" Sumi sounded puzzled, "Does this mean Usami-sensei still has a thing for your brother?"

"I don't know," said Misaki, eyes downcast, "It sure seems like it, though."

"And you haven't asked him?" When Misaki responded with a negative, Sumi went on: "Maybe you should. You never know- maybe he was just so shitfaced he didn't know what he was doing."

"Yeah, I guess," Misaki sighed, "To be honest, I… I'm afraid to hear his answer. If I'm right, and he really has just been messing with me all this time, I…" he swallowed, "I don't know what I'll do, senpai."

"… You know, it might not be as simple as that," Sumi said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well… From everything you've told me, it does sound like Usami-sensei still has feelings for your brother." As if sensing Misaki's despair at his words, he quickly went on, "But, that doesn't mean he's deliberately lying to you."

"Of course it does," Misaki said, annoyed, "If he loves Nii-chan, and he's saying he loves me, then he's lying."

"Ah, but he might not _realise_ he still loves Takahiro."

Misaki frowned. "What?"

"I mean, he might _think_ that he's moved on and that he's in love with you now, when really he just feels that way because you remind him of your older brother," Sumi explained, "If that's the case, then he's not just playing you- he's unconsciously using you to feel close to Takahiro."

As he leaned back in his seat, the furrows in Misaki's brow cleared. He hadn't thought of it like that. The idea made him feel a little better, but not much.

"What do I do, then?" he asked, his voice wobbling dangerously, "I can't be in a relationship where I'm just a replacement for someone else. I-I could never stay with him, knowing…" he broke off, feeling his throat tighten. He _wanted_ to stay with Usagi-san, but how could he if Sumi was right? If, every time they embraced, kissed, made love, he'd know in the back of his mind that Usagi-san was thinking of Takahiro?

"You're going to leave him, then?"

Misaki took a deep breath, the scent of freshly cut grass filling his nose. He loved Usagi-san, but… "I don't know," he said finally.

On the other end of the line, there was a moment or two of silence as Sumi paused for thought, 'hmmm'-ing to himself before eventually replying. "In that case," he said slowly, "If you don't feel like you can talk to him just yet, maybe you need some time apart from Usami-sensei. You wouldn't have to leave for good," he assured him, "But, perhaps you should go and stay somewhere else for a while- You know, to give yourself some time to make a decision."

"Are you sure that's- Hey, wait," Misaki said, remembering something, "You're not just saying that to get me out of the way so you can go after Usagi-san, are you?" With all the confusion, Misaki had forgotten Sumi's slightly unnerving obsession with his boyfriend.

Sumi laughed into the receiver. "No, Misaki. I know I was… pretty crappy to you about that, and I'm sorry, but I wouldn't even think of pulling something like that now."

"Promise?"

"I promise. You're my friend, and I want to help you," he said, "Anyway, you should seriously think about staying with your brother or a friend or something. If I still lived nearby, I'd have you over myself."

"Usagi-san isn't going to like that," he pointed out.

"Obviously. But your feelings are important too, Misaki," said Sumi, "You're always putting other people before you, but if you want this problem solved, you're going to have to be a little selfish, you know?"

 _Selfish_. Misaki hated that; He couldn't stand causing trouble for those around him. Nevertheless, he thought, Sumi had a point. Unless he wanted to be miserable all his life, he had to start thinking of himself.

"… I guess you're right," he mumbled, and looked at his watch, "I should probably go. Thanks a lot, senpai- really."

"No problem," Sumi said, and Misaki could hear the smile in his voice, "If you need anything else, don't hesitate to call again."

Thanking his friend once more, Misaki said goodbye and hung up. Then he stood up. He was still upset, and confused, and incredibly angry, but Sumi had made him feel better. Misaki felt lucky that he at least had friends he could rely on.

He lifted his head, feeling the balmy breeze on his skin. The sky had turned a deep shade of orange, contrasting fabulously with the lush greenery of the park. Looking around, Misaki could see couples, children, friends and families, all strolling and sitting and playing together as they enjoyed the summer evening. He was the only one by himself.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Misaki started for home. How much longer it would be his home for, however, he just didn't know anymore.

* * *

He did his best to avoid Usagi-san for the next couple of days. Misaki found that now, even looking at the man was too painful- especially with Takahiro still around. Every time he heard or saw the two of them, laughing and joking, another little piece of Misaki was chipped away. Unlike usual, he didn't even bother to hide his sullenness as he skulked around the condo.

Maybe if Usagi-san would just remember, they could talk without Misaki having to leave…

To Misaki's frustration, however, the author was clearly still oblivious to what had happened. Although, he did at least seem to notice something was wrong. Not sleeping in the same bed wasn't an issue as they had company, but when Misaki wouldn't smile or even speak to him much, Usagi-san seemed to grow suspicious. On multiple occasions, he tried asking if Misaki was okay, but the boy was always quick to make up an excuse and leave. Usagi-san looked increasingly concerned each time, but Misaki refused to yield. Until he figured out what he'd done wrong, he could sit and stew in silence for all Misaki cared.

Honestly, his own thoughts disturbed him. Misaki didn't recall ever feeling so much hostility towards his rabbit, not even back when he was still being tutored by him. In the past few days, however, everything seemed to have twisted around. Misaki felt so hurt, so humiliated, so betrayed, and he found himself simultaneously loving and hating Usagi-san with a passion.

 _Don't you see how much you've hurt me, Usagi-san? Do you even realise what you've done?_

A couple of days after Misaki's conversation with Sumi, Takahiro and family were departing. For the sake of his brother, Misaki plastered on his best fake smile and waved goodbye (part of him actually wanted to leave with them). The second Takahiro had closed the door, however, Usagi-san grabbed Misaki's wrists and pinned him against the wall, trapping him in a corner. His face was stony as his boyfriend cried out in shock.

"Wh-what?" he said, looking away. He still couldn't hold that gaze.

"Misaki," Usagi-san's deep voice resonated through him, making Misaki shiver, "What's the matter?"

"Nothing." He replied instantly. There was something of a challenge in his statement. _Come on, you idiot- remember already._

Usagi-san frowned. "It's not nothing, though, is it? You've barely spoken in days."

"Really, it's-!" Misaki was cut off when Usagi-san grabbed his chin, forcing his face upwards.

"You won't even _look_ at me!" he said, and his angry expression softened a little, "Misaki, is something bothering you? If so, please tell me."

He looked so wounded, so worried… Mentally cursing, Misaki averted his eyes once more. Stupid Usagi… Why did he have to seem so caring? Hearing his words of concern, seeing his face, Misaki could almost fall under the illusion that everything was okay, and that Usagi-san really _did_ love him.

Almost.

"Just forget it," he said, and pushed the man's arms away. He heard Usagi-san calling after him as he went up to his room, but he ignored him and locked the door. Then he flopped onto his bed.

Misaki's groan was muffled by the pillow he held to his face. What should he _do_? He so badly wanted to just carry on as normal, living happily with the man who'd become so precious to him- even if it only meant filling the gap that Takahiro had left in Usagi-san. Misaki knew, however, that he could never truly be happy with such an arrangement. He wanted Usagi-san to love him for _him_.

 _I just want things to go back to the way they were…_

Maybe it would have been better if he'd never seen what he did, Misaki thought as he lay on his front. That way, he'd never have even questioned the true nature of Usagi-san's feelings for him; he could have spent the rest of his time with his rabbit in blissful ignorance, just as he had these past three-and-a-half years…

Heaving a sigh, Misaki sat up. Inside, he felt like a sheet of paper being scrunched into a ball. He just wanted to curl in on himself and weep. Why did things have to be this way?

 _You're being pathetic_ , said his inner voice, _Either talk to Usagi-san, or go someplace else._

It was true- he _was_ being pathetic. But… He didn't want to leave Usagi-san, not even temporarily. If he did that, it would feel like everything was truly over between them, and Misaki just couldn't face that yet. Not to mention Usagi-san himself would be devastated, even if it was only because he was losing his Takahiro substitute.

 _If you can't leave him, then talk to him. It's no use just hanging around and moping._

Stubbornly, Misaki dug his fingernails into the bedsheets, as if rooting himself to the spot. Usagi-san was the one in the wrong here- he could come to _him_ , he thought.

 _What are you, five? Just go already- he'll never remember if you don't remind him._

Even with everything the rational part of his brain was telling him, it took hours before Misaki plucked up the courage to venture out of his room. Maybe, just maybe, he and Usagi-san could resolve this somehow. Maybe Usagi-san would prove him wrong.

Treading tentatively along the hall, he stopped outside the door of Usagi-san's study. His heart was already pounding. Taking a deep breath, he knocked and opened the door. "Usagi-san?"

"Oh, just hang on, Misaki," Usagi-san, sitting at his desk, brought his phone back to his ear. "Sorry, Takahiro- Hm? Oh no, it was great having you over…"

Misaki's raised fist clenched.

Glowering at the back of Usagi-san's head, he stayed for a few seconds, unheeded, before he returned to his room. He re-locked the door. He sat on the edge of his bed. He rubbed his watery eyes and grabbed fistfuls of his own hair and threw one of his pillows against the wall.

Then he called Todo.

* * *

 **Angry Misaki may seem a bit OOC in this chapter, but I thought it would be only natural for him to be pissed off with Usagi-san- and to not be honest with him, since he never is in the show XD Anyway, stay tuned- big, drama-filled chapter coming up next...**

 **Hope the chapter was okay- thanks for reading! :3**


	4. Chapter 4

Akihiko couldn't sleep.

What exactly was causing his insomnia, he wasn't sure. It could have been the moaning of the wind outside the condo; it could have been the previous four hours of staring at his computer screen in the dark; it could have been the nicotine from the last of his twenty-a-day, still buzzing around his body as he lay and stared at the ceiling.

The author's spacious, toy-strewn bedroom was darkening rapidly, shadows impeding his vision. His bloodshot eyes burned in his head, but for some reason- no matter how weary he grew- he couldn't bring himself to close them.

Finally, with a frustrated sigh, Akihiko moved. Heaving himself onto his side, he found himself staring at his robot-teddy alarm clock (a birthday gift from his boyfriend). The red, glowing numbers on the screen glared at him through the growing blackness. 3:34 AM.

Slowly, painfully, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The pillows were soft and the sheets clean and cosy, but they'd done nothing to relax the sleep-deprived man. It was too cold in that bed. Too empty. Slouching on the edge of the mattress, Akihiko ran a hand through his ash-blonde hair.

Why hadn't Misaki come to bed?

Something was definitely off with him, whether he would admit it to Akihiko or not. He was suddenly much quieter than usual- in fact, the boy had barely spoken to him in the days following the party. He wouldn't sleep with him, either- only on the couch or in Misaki's own room (which, until now, had been practically unused for years). He still cooked for Akihiko, and ate with him, and did all of his housework for him, but nevertheless… the air in the condo had turned frosty.

What could possibly be the matter? Akihiko pondered as he rested his heavy head on his hand. While a little sulkiness from Misaki was not uncommon, he'd never seen the boy behave quite like this before. It pained Akihiko. He missed his cheerful Misaki; his bright smile, his infectious laugh, his kind, sweet voice…

 _Was it something I did?_ If so, then what? He wished Misaki would just tell him. He almost had, when he knocked on Akihiko's door earlier, but of course luck would have it that the author was preoccupied at that moment. Afterwards, when he tried to ask what Misaki had been going to say, the boy had already re-sealed his lips.

Akihiko closed his eyes. Whatever the reason for Misaki's behaviour, he supposed, it was no use staying awake and worrying about it; though it was hard to think of anything else, he would only make things worse by dwelling on the matter. He needed to get some rest. _I'll make Misaki talk to me tomorrow_ , he decided.

Just as he was about to lie back down, however, a sudden sound made him freeze: the soft click of a door opening, accentuated by the silence of the hallway. Akihiko's heart stumbled. Misaki hadn't been out of his room since the previous evening. Cat-like footsteps neared his closed door as the boy tiptoed along the corridor and down the stairs. Fighting the urge to jump up and follow his boyfriend, Akihiko began bumping his leg up and down in agitation. Misaki was probably just grabbing a midnight snack, he told himself; after all, the boy had skipped dinner that night (giving the excuse that he wasn't hungry) and hadn't eaten since.

Or maybe…

Maybe Misaki was just as anxious to fix things between them as Akihiko was. Maybe he couldn't sleep either. If Akihiko went and talked to him now, perhaps Misaki would finally reveal what was bothering him. Together, they could work things out (Akihiko would apologise if he had to, as many times as necessary) and Misaki would smile again. They would hug, and kiss, and Akihiko would fall asleep and wake up with the man he loved beside him, the past few days nothing more than a bad dream.

His mind made up, Akihiko climbed to his feet and crept towards the door, stepping over stuffed bears and toy train tracks along the way. Outside the pitch-black windows, the wind was still muttering- It would probably start raining, or even thundering soon. His footsteps masked by the sounds of the elements, Akihiko moved noiselessly down the stairs, squinting through the darkness as he searched the huge, open space of the first floor. It was almost as cold and gloomy as it was outside.

 _That's weird_ , he thought. Even if he didn't want to disturb Akihiko by turning the lights on, how could Misaki see what he was doing in the dark? Come to think of it, there was no clinking of crockery or rustling of packaging coming from the kitchen, or anywhere else for that matter. The first floor was completely silent.

A wave of uneasiness washed over the author. He had definitely heard Misaki come down here… Reaching the final step, Akihiko turned towards the entryway- heading for the light switches- when a shadowy figure made him stop in his tracks.

Misaki. His hand on the doorknob. Suitcase in tow.

Akihiko felt his breath catch. _No…_ Misaki was just standing there, arm outstretched, as if he couldn't quite make up his mind. Holding his breath, Akihiko stood stock still, willing his boyfriend to turn around. But when Misaki finally moved- when he turned the doorknob- Akihiko started.

"Misaki!"

The younger man almost jumped out of his skin at the sudden call. Whirling around, his green eyes widened at the sight of his boyfriend. "Usagi-San…"

"Where are you going?" he hoped Misaki couldn't hear his voice rasp as he moved closer. His mouth was dry.

Looking almost guilty as he stood in front of the door, Misaki averted his eyes. He was fully clothed; jacket, scarf, trainers, everything. Even in the dim light, Akihiko could see the boy's hand tense uncomfortably around the handle of his tiny case.

"Where are you going at this time of night?" he repeated, louder this time.

"To Todo's…" Misaki mumbled. Long, dark bangs concealed his eyes.

Akihiko's heart began to quicken its pace. _Surely not…_ Whatever was going on, whatever Misaki was so upset about, there was no way he'd just run off without saying anything. There had to be some other explanation- anything.

"Why?" The tremor in his voice was barely audible, but he was sure Misaki heard it.

The boy sighed. "I'm… going to stay there for a while."

Every muscle in Akihiko's body tensed. "What? You're _leaving_?"

"No! I mean, I'm not… I don't know." Misaki grabbed a handful of unruly hair, still refusing to look the author in the eye.

Panic, anger and dread stirred in Akihiko's gut. Something was seriously wrong, he could see that now. While he'd known right away that some invisible wedge had driven itself between the two of them, he hadn't realised the damage was so bad that Misaki would even _consider_ doing something like this. Even if something terrible _had_ happened, wouldn't he at least talk to Akihiko about it first? The author growled. What the hell was going on?

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Striding forwards, he grabbed Misaki by shoulders, glaring down with intense, amethyst eyes, "What is it with you lately, Misaki? I _know_ there's something the matter, and I've been trying to get you to talk to me for days! Did you really think it would be better to just up and leave without a word?"

The words tumbled from his mouth like a carefully constructed dam, brought crashing down by the wave of emotions that Akihiko had been holding back for so long. He knew he wasn't helping matters by letting his anger take control, but the prospect of Misaki leaving him alone was simply unbearable. Beneath him, the smaller man cowered and took a step back. Akihiko felt awful, but he couldn't let Misaki go; at the very least, he had to know _why_.

"W-well, what else am I supposed to do?" Misaki stuttered bravely, "Besides, I wouldn't be going if it weren't for _you_ , you big jerk!"

"Me?" Akihiko shouted, "What the hell did _I_ do?"

For a moment, Misaki was still. Then, slowly, he lifted his head and held Akihiko's annoyed stare. The older man was shocked to see such contempt in the eyes of his beloved.

"So you really don't remember…"

"Remember _what_?" his fingers dug into Misaki's shoulders, "For crying out loud, Misaki, stop hiding everything. Just stay here, tell me what's wrong, and I'll-"

"I can't!" he cried.

Stunned, Akihiko let his hands drop. Misaki stared defiantly at him, fists tightly clenched, with- to the author's dismay- tears forming in the corners of his forest green eyes. Sniffling, the boy shook his head.

"I can't stay here anymore, Usagi-San," he said, "Not after… Not when you…"

As he wiped his eyes, Akihiko's chest tightened. Not only had he almost driven Misaki away, but he'd apparently hurt him badly enough to make him cry. Nothing pained the older man more than the sight of tears on his beloved's beautiful face. Stretching out a hand, he tried to brush them away and was stung when Misaki pushed him off.

"How can I stay?" The words were thick with multiplying tears. As Misaki masked his wet face with his hands, Akihiko felt a lump forming in his own throat.

"Don't cry, Misaki, please…" Stepping forward, he tried to wrap the boy in his arms but found himself shoved away once more, with such force that he was sent stumbling backwards. He sagged.

" _Don't touch me_ , you stupid, lying bastard!" he spat, with such awful conviction that Akihiko almost burst into tears himself, "Don't act this way with me if you're just going to turn your back on me again!"

When had Akihiko ever done anything of the like? "Misaki…" The name came out a half-whisper, "I don't know what you're talking about…"

Misaki's outburst seemed to have drained him. When he looked up, the emotion in his expression had dissolved and now he looked exhausted. His emeralds, half-lidded, had dulled and his hands hung limply by his sides.

"I just… I can't do this, Usagi. I need some time to think. Away from you."

At those words, a terrible fear seized Akihiko. If he let Misaki walk away now… If he lost him… Panicking, he slammed his hands against the door on either side of Misaki. The boy didn't even flinch.

"No, Misaki, don't," his words cracked with mounting desperation, "I can fix this- I'll do anything! I don't know what I did, or what I can do, but please…"

 _Please don't go. Don't leave me just yet. Please give me a chance._ The words hung in the air, but he couldn't make himself say them. His throat was constricted; it ached.

Wearily, Misaki lowered his eyes from Akihiko's urgent gaze. "I know you'd be like this… This is why I didn't want to tell you I was leaving."

 _Leaving_. Breathing raggedly, Akihiko kept Misaki pinned to the door, despite knowing that he could easily escape with one twist of the handle. "No. Don't leave me!"

But Misaki was already turning. "I'm going."

In a flash, Akihiko grabbed his arm, trying to find some way- any way- of anchoring himself to the boy. "At least tell me _why_ , for God's sake!"

Struggling to free himself from the author's frantic grasp, Misaki made a frustrated noise. His eyes were brimming with pain and hurt and it broke Akihiko inside. "Don't you remember, you moron?" he said, "The party? _Niichan_?"

What about the party? What _about_ Takahiro? Misaki wasn't making any sense, and it was driving Akihiko crazy. "I don't know what you mean!" He insisted.

Misaki stamped his foot. "God, you're _unbelievable_!" Tugging himself away, he made another grab for the doorknob but was once again hindered by the author.

"Wait!" he choked, "Don't go. Whatever I did, I'm sorry already- I'll make it up to you. _Don't_ leave me, Misaki, I love you!"

Misaki's brows lowered. "Do you?" he said, "Or are you just telling yourself that because you still have feelings for Niichan?"

 _What?_

Akihiko pushed his silver hair back in disbelief. "Where the hell's that coming from?"

Below him, Misaki gave a snort of disgust. He looked resigned as he turned, for the third time, to that dreaded door. "That's it, I'm outta here."

Grabbing his suitcase, he wrenched the door open, making Akihiko trip forwards. With a strangled cry, he made a grab for the boy, but he was already stalking away.

"Misaki!" Akihiko couldn't breathe. His heart was hammering. Everything- not just Misaki- seemed to be slipping away from him, fading the further away the boy became. "Misaki, you can't- _Wait_ , Misaki, please!"

He only managed a few steps after him before the boy turned around.

"Stop shouting," he said, "We've already disturbed the neighbours."

Then he left. Shakily, Akihiko lowered his hand, watching as his beloved was swallowed up by the blackness. His footsteps faded, as did the scraping of his case against the floor, until the only sound that remained was the blowing of the wind and first drumming of raindrops against the windowpanes.

How long Akihiko stood there, he could never say. It could have been ten seconds or twenty minutes.

 _What the hell… What the_ hell _just happened?_

Eventually, he walked back into the empty apartment, although every fibre in him wanted to go chasing after the boy. He slammed the door hard behind him, ignoring the drowsy complaints of the other roused residents. Once inside, he fell heavily onto the couch. Exhaustion was beginning to catch up with him. He rubbed his sore eyes, trying to abolish the tears that were forming there.

The author just couldn't understand it. Just a few days ago, he and Misaki had been as happy as could be, with absolutely no signs of trouble between them. Now, Misaki was gone and Akihiko was alone. What could possibly have changed so fast?

Letting out a long, shuddering sigh, he sank back into the sofa cushions. If he was confused by Misaki's actions, he was completely baffled when they boy brought up Takahiro. How in the world he fit into this, Akihiko hadn't the foggiest idea. Misaki had mentioned the party, too, he remembered, noting that the day after that was when Misaki's odd behaviour began.

 _But why?_ Akihiko screwed up his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. _Something_ had definitely gone wrong (or Misaki would still be there) but nothing on the night of the party had been any cause for concern- at least, not as far as he could see. Everything had been fine…

Although…

Actually, now that he thought about it, weren't he and Takahiro drinking that night? He didn't have a clue what had happened when he woke up. Could he have done something while he was drunk- something to make Misaki mad at him? (He had been known to sometimes go overboard with the alcohol, after all…) Brow furrowing, Akihiko tried to recall the blurry memories from three nights ago. All he remembered, however, was laughing and talking with Takahiro as they poured themselves more wine. Yes; that was definitely right. They were talking about… School, or books, or something? Takahiro had been sitting across from him, and then he'd moved to sit beside him instead, and then-

Akihiko's eyes snapped open.

 _Impossible… There's no way I…_

More memories were swimming into focus: his own hands, reaching for Takahiro, pinning him to the sofa as Akihiko pressed himself against him. He could suddenly recall the warmth of his best friend's body, his breath on his lips… And- Akihiko recalled with a sickening jolt- Misaki, watching them from the staircase, his mouth hanging open and his eyes round with disbelief.

"… Shit…" Akihiko breathed, slowly lifting his hands to his head as realisation dawned on him, " _Shit_." Everything Misaki had said, everything he'd done, made sense now… How did he not figure it out sooner?

How did he forget?

Frozen and wide-eyed, the author struggled to process his newfound recollections. He felt sick to his stomach. To have done such a thing to Takahiro- right in front of Misaki, no less- and then forget all about it, leaving his poor love to suffer in silence… As he dragged a hand across his face, Akihiko suddenly recalled what Misaki had said to him all those years ago. It had been shortly before the two made love for the first time.

" _I'm not a substitute for my brother!"_

Even after three years together, Misaki remained insecure (much like Akihiko, in some respects). He still hated being compared to Takahiro, despite Akihiko's constant reassurances that the only one he wanted was Misaki.

So what must it have felt like to the boy, seeing the man who was supposed to be his and his alone, drunkenly assaulting his older brother?

He swallowed dryly. It hadn't meant a thing. Of course it hadn't; Akihiko had just had too much to drink and done something completely idiotic as a result (what was he even _thinking_?). That was all. He'd just made a mistake. Misaki would forgive him if he just explained that, right?

Even as he said this to himself, however, Akihiko knew it was going to take a lot more than that to convince the boy to come home. In fact, knowing Misaki, he would have jumped to all sorts of awful conclusions. A chill overtook Akihiko, though it had nothing to do with the foul weather. What if now, thanks to him, Misaki truly believed he was still in love with Takahiro? What if he was back to his old mind-set, thinking himself to be- Akihiko cringed at the thought- Takahiro's _substitute_?

He couldn't allow that. Misaki was so much more to him than that. And yet, Akihiko had betrayed him in the worst way possible. Now- though the possibility made his blood run cold- he might lose him forever.

 _Just when everything was going so perfectly…_

Drained, despairing and truly, utterly disgusted with himself, Akihiko allowed himself to collapse in a heap on the sofa, landing painfully on his side and staying there. Though his vision was distorted by tears, his stinging eyes managed to focus on the object that lay on the coffee table in front of him. Summoning the last of his strength, he grabbed the thing and hurled it, with all his might, against the wall.

A shattering of glass, followed by an awful rattling pierced the silence as the jar broke and the marbles rolled across the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

**Yay, new chapter! Thanks to Szilvia for telling me about the honorifics- I've gone back and fixed them, along with a few other mistakes.**

 **Misaki struggles to make up his mind while he stays with Todo. Someone is very interested to hear about his fight with Akihiko... Can you guess who? ;D**

* * *

"You really didn't have to clean my entire apartment, y'know," Todo said through a mouthful of stir-fry. Decked out in his false, cheerful smile, Misaki shrugged his shoulders.

"I figured it was the least I could do after you had me on such short notice."

Honestly, he'd been doing them both a favour. The messiness of Todo's place had come as no surprise to Misaki, who had been there a handful of times before. However, now that he was actually living there (if only for a time) the mounds of dirty laundry, overflowing trash cans and food-encrusted dishes were something Misaki couldn't ignore any longer.

Not that he had any room to complain; it was really decent of Todo to let him stay. Besides, he reminded himself, this place was just the same as _most_ college students' living quarters. Misaki had just grown accustomed to living in a huge, fancy house with-

And his insides wrenched as he remembered, for the hundredth time, why he was even here in the first place. The mouthful of food Misaki had been about to swallow suddenly stuck in his throat.

"You should have at least let me make dinner," said Todo. They were sitting on the sofa-bed that was Misaki's for the time being, watching TV. Taking another bite, Todo grinned at him, "It'd probably be awful compared to this, though. Man, I hope you never go back home!"

Misaki only managed a weak laugh. He set his still-full bowl discretely to one side.

He'd been staying in Todo's tiny apartment (with the excuse that his landlord was refurbishing) for just a few days, but it felt to Misaki like a week had already passed. No matter how many times he told himself he was doing the right thing, the doubt still nagged at him, setting his teeth on edge. Having to maintain his cheery demeanour around Todo wasn't exactly helping matters, either. His friend laughed at something on the TV and Misaki copied him robotically, staring at the screen with unseeing eyes.

All he could think of was Usagi-san.

When he'd told Sumi via text message what had happened, his senpai had called him within seconds. It was nice that he cared so much, Misaki thought.

"To be honest, I'm not really sure where to go from here," he'd said over the phone, "I mean, I don't _want_ to move out, but I don't really wanna go back there, either."

He already felt awful for intruding on Todo like this, but at the same time, he didn't want to be anywhere near Usagi-san. Not yet.

"If I were you, I'd just give it some more time," was his friend's response, "Besides, if Usami-sensei really wants you back, he'll come to you and apologise."

Misaki stomach had churned as he asked, "And if he doesn't?"

"Well then, your mind will be made up for you."

Secretly, Misaki hoped it wouldn't come to that. In the meantime, he was still struggling to get his emotions in order. He wished it were as easy cleaning Todo's apartment, where he could just pick everything up and sort through it and slot it neatly into place until the room was navigable again. Misaki's mind was so cluttered that he didn't even know how to _begin_ arranging it. Confusion and anger and heartache battled constantly with one another, to the point that the boy could barely concentrate on anything else.

"Get a move on, will you, Takahashi?" said Kirishima-san the next day. It was what the full-time editors called 'Hell Week' at Marukawa (meaning that everyone was rushing to meet their various deadlines). Consequently, Misaki's employer was more than a little stressed, and didn't take kindly to his dithering over the photocopier.

"Oh, um, s-sorry!" Flustered, Misaki began hurriedly stabbing buttons on the machine. As it whirred to life, Kirishima-san- who was rifling through papers and rattling off e-mails simultaneously- frowned at him briefly. There were bags beneath his eyes, and his golden-brown hair was messier than usual.

"Are you okay, Takahashi?" he asked, albeit somewhat distractedly, "You don't seem like yourself…"

Misaki mentally kicked himself, annoyed that his employer had noticed even under so much strain. _Quit spacing out, idiot,_ he scolded, _you're inconveniencing everyone._

"I'm really sorry, Kirishima-san," he said, "I guess I'm just a little off my game today."

'A little off my game' was something of an understatement; 'resisting the urge to scream and cry and throw things' was more like it. Luckily, Kirishima-san was too preoccupied himself to notice Misaki's obvious lie.

"You're not sick or anything, then? Don't need to go home?" He asked. When Misaki shook his head vigorously, his employer reached beneath the desk. "In that case- here,"

Misaki blinked as a large paper bag was dumped in his arms. Peering inside, he saw it contained a thick sheaf of paper and several assorted cakes.

"Could you take that to Kyo's place for me?" Kirishima-san asked, not looking at Misaki.

Inwardly, the boy groaned, but after his poor performance all day, he couldn't afford to let his employer down.

"Sure," he said, and left the office.

* * *

 _Could there be a worse time for me to see Ijuuin-sensei?_

Misaki's fingers ripped through the paper bag as he entered the huge apartment complex. A month or so ago, he'd have been excited- ecstatic, even- to be visiting the home of his favourite mangaka, but now he had a very divided opinion of the man. He still loved Kyo Ijuuin and his work, but after all the weirdness of the past few weeks, the very thought of him made Misaki extremely uncomfortable. He wasn't sure he could survive another visit to his apartment- and why _now_ , of all times?

 _Usagi-san would be furious if he saw you here._

Grinding his teeth, Misaki punched the elevator button and moved jerkily inside. To hell with Usagi-san- _He_ was furious.

Trying to calm himself as he stood in the corner, Misaki crushed the bag into his stomach (the swift, upward motion of the elevator wasn't helping it). He could think about how upset he was later. Right now, he had to focus on getting his job done without any more spontaneous love confessions from the mangaka. He'd have to get out of there as quickly as possible once he'd dropped off the bag- knowing Ijuuin, he was practically guaranteed to try and make Misaki stay.

There was a _ding_ as he reached his floor. Stepping out of the elevator, Misaki fought the compulsion to turn and run away and forced his feet towards Ijuuin's apartment. Everything would be fine, he told himself. He just had to deliver the package, and then leave.

 _If he finds out I'm fighting with Usagi-san, he'll see it as a golden opportunity…_ Swallowing, Misaki lifted his hand to the intercom, buzzed, and waited.

Nothing.

Remembering the mangaka's tendency to ignore visitors, Misaki tried again, speaking tentatively into the intercom.

"Um, hello? Ijuuin-sensei?" After a moment's hesitation, he tried, "I-it's Misaki Takahashi…"

Still no answer. Cautiously, Misaki pressed his ear to the door. All was silent within. Was he even home? If not, great- Misaki could just post the documents through his mail slot and-

The door swung open.

"Gyaaah!" Misaki cried as he fell forwards, keeping a tight grip on the bag. Something stopped him before he hit the floor, and he slammed heavily against it, finding one side of his face buried in soft fabric. He looked up.

A pair of blue eyes met Misaki's. "Takahashi-kun?"

With an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp, Misaki jumped backwards out of Ijuuin's arms. The mangaka watched with amusement as he clumsily tried to smooth out the paper bag, which had been momentarily squashed between them.

"Uh, I-I'm really sorry, sensei, it was an accident!" he gabbled, feeling his face catch fire, "I j-just came to give you some papers from Kirishima-san- oh, and, um, there's also some snacks, I think… Here!"

He thrust the bag towards Ijuuin, who took one look at Misaki's blushing face, threw back his head and laughed heartily.

"You're so adorable, Takahashi-kun… Thank you," he said, accepting the delivery with a brilliant smile.

Misaki looked at his feet. "Y-you're welcome! Have a nice da-"

"Wait."

Facing away from the mangaka, Misaki closed his eyes. "Yes?"

"Why don't you come in?" he heard him ask, "I've been working non-stop all week- I'd like some company."

 _I knew it._

Misaki could feel the man's eyes on the back of his head as he stuttered, "I'm s-sorry, but I have to get b-back to work."

"You don't have to stay long," Ijuuin said, stepping closer to him. Evidently, he could tell what Misaki was thinking, because he added, "I just want to chat, Takahashi-kun."

"I-I really can't…"

Two minutes later, Misaki was sitting stiffly on Ijuuin's couch, holding a plate of slightly battered but still edible cake. A muscle in his cheek twitched.

Why did he always let this happen?

The mangaka sauntered out of his kitchen, carrying a tea tray. As there was an obstacle course of books, files and papers littering the floor, it took him a little longer to reach the couch than it might otherwise have done.

"Sorry the place is such a mess," he said, stepping over a pile of magazines. Ijuuin had clearly been struggling to meet his deadline again; though usually stylish, he was dressed in nothing but an old T-shirt and jeans, and there were dark rings around his eyes. He still, Misaki couldn't help but note, managed to look rather dazzling. No wonder his work was so popular with girls.

"Oh, I've seen worse," he said as Ijuuin took a seat. Misaki had half-expected him to sit right up close like last time, but he (thankfully) stuck to the other end of the couch. Still, Misaki felt so awkward that he inched himself closer to the dark blue armrest without even thinking about it.

Ijuuin eyed him. "I'm making you uncomfortable already, aren't I? Sorry."

"No, not at all!" said Misaki, a little too loudly. He didn't want to be rude if he could help it; despite his recent actions, Misaki remained a huge fan of the mangaka. Being this close to his idol wasn't helping his nerves- especially now he knew how Ijuuin-sensei felt about him. Cringing, he forced himself to take a bite of cake.

"Then what is it?" Asked Ijuuin. Before Misaki could answer, he went on, "Are you worried about Usami-sensei? I know he doesn't like you going near me."

There was a loud clank as Misaki speared his cake. "He can't control me."

"… Good," said Ijuuin slowly. He was quiet for a moment before he went on. "Listen, Takahashi-kun- I want to apologise to you."

"Huh?"

The taller man ran a hand through his ebony hair. He was still smiling, but not as much. "When I saw you in Kamakura, well… I never meant to put you on the spot like that. I'm sorry for being so forward with you."

"Oh," the boy said, swallowing the cake he'd been chewing. He was talking about the last time he'd confessed to Misaki; 'I'm still waiting for your answer', he'd said. "Really, sensei, it's okay. It was just kind of… unexpected, that's all."

In truth, it had been _more_ than a little weird for Misaki, but Ijuuin seemed to buy his response. "I understand. I just hope it hasn't tarnished your opinion of me."

 _What?_ When Misaki looked up at the mangaka, his face was earnest, "You see, I like you a lot, Takahashi-kun, and I wouldn't want you to think badly of me…"

"No!" Misaki blurted out. When Ijuuin stopped in surprise, he looked away, embarrassed, "I-I mean, I'm sorry I can't give you the answer you wanted yet, but… whatever happens, I'll always be your number-one fan, Ijuuin-sensei!"

As he made this declaration, he'd leaned closer to Ijuuin without realising it, fists clenched and eyes wide with passion. After all, who cared if Ijuuin-sensei was kind of weird? Misaki would always love him, just as he would always love _The Kan_! He couldn't have his idol thinking otherwise just because of some stupid little love confession.

The mangaka looked a little taken aback, but only for a second. His lips parted, revealing a row of perfect, white teeth.

"Thank you. That means a lot." He crossed his legs, "Anyway. How are you, Takahashi-kun?"

The conversation that followed was a relatively normal one; Misaki lied and said he was fine; Ijuuin told him how hectic his work had been lately; Misaki cheered him on and Ijuuin asked him how his own work was going, and school… He didn't say anything weird or profess his love for the younger man, and by the time Misaki had finished his cake, he'd been able to marginally relax. Until, that is, Ijuuin asked the question he'd been dreading to hear.

"And how is Usami-sensei?"

It was said casually enough, but Misaki thought he heard a slight edge to the mangaka's voice. He tensed. _Uh-oh._

"He's f-fine."

The older man saw right through him. "Really? You don't sound so sure."

"That is, uh…"

"Everything alright with you two?"

He might as well be honest; Ijuuin-sensei could already tell, anyway. "Not… exactly." He admitted.

Across the couch, Ijuuin sat up a little straighter. "Oh? Did something happen?"

 _Careful, now._ "It's not a big deal," he lied, "We're just… working through some stuff is all."

Those ocean-blue eyes were suddenly watching him very closely. Misaki looked away. "Usami-sensei isn't treating you badly, is he?" he asked.

"No, no, no, nothing like that," said Misaki hastily, "Besides, I'm actually staying with Todo right now, so… Uh…" he trailed off. _Why would you tell him that, you idiot?_

Ijuuin looked surprised. "You've moved out?"

"Only for a while," he clarified, "We… We just needed some time apart."

Now that they were having this conversation, part of Misaki felt like ranting about what a jerk Usagi-san was, but given who he was talking to, Misaki decided to hold his tongue.

"I see," Ijuuin said after a pause, "I'm sorry to hear that."

He went back to his cake. Warily, Misaki set his empty plate down on the coffee table. Something told him Ijuuin wasn't in the least bit sorry- not if everything he'd said about being in love with Misaki was true. As he took a gulp of tea, Misaki remembered the way the mangaka had smirked at Usagi-san when they last met. There had been something icy in that smile.

" _If Misaki decides he likes me more, that's the start of a whole new love story, isn't it?"_

He was definitely hoping for Misaki to leave Usagi-san and choose him instead. Misaki shivered. _I hope he doesn't get any ideas just because Usagi and I are fighting…_

"You know, if it doesn't work out with you two…"

"H-huh?" Misaki spluttered, nearly choking on his tea. He wasn't seriously about to make his move already, was he?! Misaki couldn't deal with that. "Sensei, i-it's not like we're officially broken up or anything! We're just going through a rough patch! That's it! Really!"

Seeing him so frantic, Ijuuin laughed. "I was just going to say that I have a friend who's an estate agent. If it _doesn't_ work out with Usami-sensei, he can help you find your own place as soon as possible- I could give you his number if you like."

"Oh…" Misaki set down his teacup. So Ijuuin-sensei was really just trying to help. He looked at his lap. "Thank you, sensei, but… I don't think that's really necessary." _Not yet, anyway,_ he thought, stomach churning.

"No, perhaps not…" Sighing, Ijuuin swept his brunette bangs out of his eyes, "Forgive me, Takahashi-kun. It's just that… Well, I care about you a lot, and I want to help you in any way I can. I don't like seeing you unhappy."

Misaki's stomach flipped. Such kind words… And from the genius behind his favourite manga, no less! Chancing a look at Ijuuin-sensei, Misaki saw such concern for himself in those deep, blue eyes that he felt guilty.

"Th-thank you very much, Ijuuin-sensei," he said, doing his best to fight back his inner fanboy, "I appreciate it."

The taller man continued to look down at him, not saying a word. Misaki cleared his throat, "Well, um, I should really get back to work now…"

Ijuuin nodded. "Of course."

He stood up along with Misaki as the boy headed for the door. "Thanks for the cake- Huh?"

Misaki had almost reached the hallway when his arm was gently grabbed. Startled, he turned his face, which was abruptly met with the older man's lips. They lingered for a second before Ijuuin pulled away.

"See you later."

Misaki froze, turning beet red. Then he spun on his heel and dashed out of the apartment, calling a speedy goodbye on his way. He didn't bother waiting for the elevator. As soon as he was out of the complex, he sprinted down the road and back towards the publishing house.

 _What the hell?!_ He screamed internally as he ran, his cheek still burning where Ijuuin had kissed it, _Who_ does _that? Why do I only seem to attract weird, rich guys?!_

* * *

"No way! You got to visit Ijuuin-sensei's house again?" Todo jumped up and down on his bed excitedly. When Misaki nodded, he flopped back onto his pillow and whined, "No fair! I wish I could go there again!"

"If I could have, I'd have brought you with me," said Misaki truthfully. Getting off his friend's mattress, he stretched and feigned a yawn. "Well, I think I'll go to sleep now. Goodnight," he said, as airily as he could.

As soon as he was out of Todo's sight, however, Misaki's smile vanished.

Another full day had passed, and he'd heard nothing from Usagi-san. Of course, Misaki had no intention of speaking to the man at the moment, but… He'd figured Usagi-san would have at least _tried_ to apologise by now. Was he feeling at all guilty? Angry? Had he even remembered?

 _Maybe he really just doesn't care…_ Misaki thought glumly as he climbed into his temporary bed. Foolishly, he checked his phone before leaving it to charge beside the couch, even though he knew there weren't any new messages from his rabbit. He sighed. With each minute that passed with no word from Usagi-san, Misaki grew more and more anxious.

He flicked the light switch, plunging the small room into darkness. Had he been too hasty, perhaps? Maybe he should have let Usagi-san explain himself before running off. After all, the man could barely function without Misaki there to take care of him…

What if Usagi-san was so angry with him for leaving, he refused to take Misaki back?

The idea had been gnawing at him for a while now, no matter how many times Misaki tried to tell himself that it was complete nonsense. It was Usagi-san, for crying out loud- he'd be _begging_ Misaki to come back home.

But then, why hadn't he called yet?

 _Hold on a second,_ Misaki thought to himself as he lay down, _Why am_ I _worrying? That jerk is the one who owes_ me _an apology._

He'd been feeling guilty about abandoning Usagi-san for a moment, but when that image of him leaning over his brother came to mind again, Misaki was overcome with rage once more.

 _I'm being stupid. Until he can explain his little stunt with Nii-chan, I shouldn't even give him the time of day._

But it just wasn't possible. Usagi-san was always there, on the edge of his mind. Taunting him.

He covered his head with a couch cushion. It was difficult to sleep in Todo's living room; the sounds of cars and city-goers outside, Misaki's thoughts of Usagi-san, the constant flashing of headlights through the window, and his recent encounter with Ijuuin all kept him wide awake. He remembered what the mangaka had said about getting his own place, and he pulled the blanket tightly around himself.

He really hoped it would never come to that. No matter how angry he was, no matter how hurt… He couldn't deny it: He wanted Usagi-san to have a good excuse. He wanted to forgive him. He wanted them to be together and happy and in love again. His rabbit's handsome, smiling face appeared in the dark, and Misaki squeezed his eyes shut. His phone didn't make a sound.

 _Come on, Usagi, you moron. I'm rooting for you._

* * *

 **For some reason, I found this chapter a bit tricky to get right. I'm still not sure about it, so do tell me what you think. I really hope you guys are still enjoying the story, but as always, please let me know if you have any criticisms.**

 **So, enter Ijuuin-sensei! If you're wondering about Usagi-san, we'll be back to his POV next chapter. Things are gonna start heating up soon... Any ideas on what will happen next?**

 **Thank you for reading, and also for everyone who's left me a review. Please keep them coming- your feedback is very much appreciated! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry this took a bit longer than usual. I had a bunch of schoolwork to do, but I'm on break now :) I'm afraid this chapter isn't as long as the others, but I promise the next part will be up very, very soon!**

 **For now, here's a glimpse at both Usagi-san and Misaki before the real drama sets in!**

* * *

His thumb hovering over the 'call' button, Akihiko paused yet again. His long fingers drummed against his desk. Behind the glass screen of his phone, Misaki's contact photo smiled up at him, waiting. The author tried again, his thumb coming within a hair's breadth of the screen before he pulled back again.

Growling, he shoved away from the desk. The swivel chair wheeled him to a gentle stop in the middle of the dimly lit room (The blinds were half-closed, and he hadn't bothered opening them). Sitting back and loosening his tie, Akihiko tilted his head upwards and stared at the sun-striped ceiling.

He was useless.

In the week that Misaki had been gone, he hadn't been able to go more than ten minutes without checking his phone. Unsurprisingly, he'd heard nothing at all from the boy. Akihiko knew the ball was in his court now; after all, he made this mess, and it was down to the author to fix it.

He _knew_ this. So, why couldn't he make the call?

Breathing heavily through his nose, Akihiko rubbed his pale, unshaven face. He'd hardly slept for days. For countless hours, the disgraced man had sat and stared at his phone, trying to work up the nerve to call- or at least text- his beloved and failing every time.

Akihiko lifted his device, holding it over his upturned face. For the hundredth time, he unlocked it, opened his contacts and found Misaki.

 _Just do it._ His finger shook as it neared the tiny, phone-shaped icon. Once again, he stopped just short of the screen.

 _What are you doing? Press the damn button already._

Sweaty fingerprints appeared on the screen as Akihiko tightened his grip. Only the continuous hum of his laptop disturbed the silence. All he had to do was press the button… Finally, with a frustrated groan, he let his hand fall into his lap. The other he used to grab his face, irritated.

He knew he had to apologise. He _wanted_ to, more than anything, but the fact was, Akihiko was simply too afraid. More than afraid, actually; he was terrified. Terrified that Misaki (assuming he even picked up) wouldn't believe or even listen to what he had to say. Akihiko's fingernails dug into his skin, leaving small dents in his troubled face.

What if Misaki just straight up ended things with him?

 _I would, if I were him._ There was a brief rustling as Akihiko rummaged for a cigarette. In truth, he was still having trouble accepting what he'd done. It was all just… so unbelievably _stupid_ of him. Betraying Misaki; not noticing anything was wrong until it was too late; _kissing_ Takahiro… Akihiko cringed at the memory as he flicked open his lighter. It was disgusting. _He_ was disgusting. How could Misaki ever forgive him for this?

Smoke filled his lungs as he took a long drag. _Well… I'm not going to find out by just sitting here._

Akihiko took a deep breath. His hands- usually deft and skilful- fumbled with his phone as he opened his contacts yet again. The photo of Misaki smiled expectantly. An outstretched finger neared the 'call' button. He could do this.

The finger stopped and drew back. No, he couldn't.

 _Coward._

Without thinking, Akihiko stabbed the button, then froze as the phone started ringing. He'd actually done it. Millions of winged things started flapping around inside the author as he hesitantly brought the phone to his ear. A bead of sweat trickled down his cheek.

 _Just keep calm…_

With each ring of the phone, however, Akihiko grew tenser and tenser. "Pick up… Please pick up…" he murmured.

He was literally on the edge of his seat when the phone went to voicemail. Biting back a string of curses, Akihiko panicked as he tried to think of what to say. There was a _beep_ and he jolted.

"Hey, Misaki," he began uneasily, all too aware of how nervous he sounded, "I, uh… I need to talk to you. Please, uh, call me back when you can."

He hung up. God, that was the lamest message ever… Tendrils of smoke wound their way into the air as Akihiko released a long, shuddering breath. His heart was still pounding.

Would Misaki call back? Would he even listen to the message? It had been mere seconds since Akihiko left it, and yet the uncertainty was agonising.

Crushing his cigarette into the panda-shaped ashtray, he stalked into the kitchen, clouds of smoke following him down the stairs. He reached for the coffee machine; there was no way he could sleep until he'd heard back from Misaki. _If_ he heard back from him.

While he waited for the water to boil, Akihiko took out another cigarette. Since the incident, his nicotine intake had been steadily increasing by the day. He opened the kitchen cabinet and picked up one of the heat-proof glasses, marked by Misaki for his own safety. Somehow, even the scribble of Misaki's handwriting across the glass made Akihiko incredibly sorrowful.

It was the worst kind of torture: not knowing. Being unable to do anything but wait. All night long, Akihiko prowled restlessly around his apartment like a caged beast, just waiting and worrying and wondering if he'd get to speak to the boy tonight. Hell, anything would do- a call, a voicemail, a text…

 _Misaki… My dear, sweet Misaki… I'm sorry, I really am. Just give me some sort of sign that you still love me a little… Please._

Three hours, four cups of coffee and ten cigarettes later, Akihiko was almost about to give up for the day. He lay back on his bed, wondering how he was ever going to get any sleep, when the unbearable silence was shattered by the buzz of his phone.

Akihiko pounced on it. "Please don't be Aikawa…"

 **we should talk in person. i have to work til 8 tomorrow so meet me outside Marukawa.**

Cold, careless and curt. None of the usual pleasantness. No smiley face, as was Misaki's regular way of signing off. But it was something from him, and it was more than enough for Akihiko.

A huge sigh of relief escaped the author. He'd been blessed with a second chance, and he'd be damned if he was going to blow it. Falling back into his pillows, he set his alarm for noon the following day (he'd be lucky if he was even asleep by morning).

Moonlight seeped in through a crack in the curtains, highlighting the bare space beside Akihiko. He turned to face it, inhaling the lingering scent of his beloved. The sheets were cold as Akihiko reached out and touched the empty spot.

Tomorrow, when he climbed into bed, Misaki would be on the other side of him. He'd get on his knees and beg if he had to.

* * *

"… _Please, uh, call me back when you can."_

Cross-legged on Todo's couch, clad in his yellow pyjamas, Misaki frowned down at his phone. Honestly, it was ridiculous how many times he'd played the message back just to hear Usagi-san. He couldn't help it, though; it wasn't until the message had ended for the first time- too soon for Misaki's liking- that he grudgingly realised how much he missed that low, husky voice.

In fact, he might actually have answered the phone had he not been in the shower. When Misaki had walked, dripping, out of Todo's bathroom and checked his phone, his heart had leapt at the sight of the new message. While just seeing Usagi-san's name on the screen had been enough to make Misaki's blood boil, he couldn't deny that he also felt strangely reassured.

At the very least, the message was proof that Usagi-san wasn't content to just discard Misaki as the boy had originally thought. For that much, he was thankful- even though he still didn't know what was to come next.

The rabbit sounded pretty uncomfortable in the message. Good, Misaki thought; he deserved to. Childish though it was, the boy had waited a good few hours before responding to Usagi-san. Just to torment him a little; a bit of payback for the way Usagi-san had left Misaki himself to suffer. He was, admittedly, glad to hear from the man, but nevertheless, Misaki wanted Usagi-san to know that he was still fuming, and that he would _not_ be forgiven easily.

Still… Perhaps he really did have a reasonable explanation. Though Misaki would never admit it to the author, he hoped so. He played with his _The Kan_ keychain as he looked down at his phone, nibbling at his lower lip.

The voicemail had put him a little at ease, but Misaki was still horribly anxious. All that was definitely confirmed in the message was that Usagi-san wanted to talk; Misaki didn't yet know if he wanted him back, or if he was angry with him, or if he'd even remembered what happened with Takahiro yet.

 _He'd better have remembered_ , thought Misaki bitterly. Usagi-san had better be feeling awful.

 _I guess you'll find out tomorrow._

As he lay down on the thin mattress, the boy suddenly remembered something: he should probably tell Sumi what had happened. Ever since Misaki had told him about his visit to Kyo Ijuuin's, his senpai had been demanding updates every single day. Although Misaki found it a little strange, he appreciated his friend's looking out for him.

He tapped out a text and sent it. Sumi replied within minutes.

 **See? I told you. Are you gonna call him back?**

 **said id talk to him after work**

 **Cool. Better not let the mangaka see you though ;)**

Misaki grimaced at the response. For some reason, Sumi found the entire Ijuuin situation wildly entertaining. Not knowing how else to reply, Misaki texted back with a simple 'lol'. Less than thirty seconds had passed, however, before his phone beeped again.

 **I'm glad you're meeting him. Hang in there buddy. You wait, he'll be CRYING for you to come home! :)**

Smiling faintly, Misaki texted his thanks and lay down. _I hope so, senpai._ He tucked the blanket around himself, preparing for his seventh night in Todo's living room. With any luck, he thought, this would be the last night he spent here.

* * *

 **Hope you guys enjoyed that. Again, sorry it was so short. Thank you for reading as always, and please review. Reading your comments really makes my day!**

 **What do you guys think? Will they get back together? See you soon! :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Here's another chapter, as compensation for the long wait (I know the last one wasn't great, so I hope this one makes up for it!). Hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

Above Tokyo, dark grey clouds were approaching, crawling slowly across the night sky and snuffing out the stars. Most of the employees at Marukawa- the ones who weren't pulling all-nighters, anyway- had left, and the street outside the building was completely quiet. A tall figure leaned against the nearby street lamp, the only person in sight.

Akihiko clenched and unclenched his fists inside his long, black coat. He glanced at his watch again, but the hands had barely moved since the last time he checked. Half an hour he'd already been standing there; no way was he going to risk being late.

Tonight was his last shot.

The author's entire body tingled with anticipation as he waited. Every car engine that passed, every rustle of leaves and distant city sound plucked at Akihiko's taut nerves. When was the last time he'd been this nervous? However eager he was to see Misaki after this eternity of a week, he was still horribly uneasy.

 _What am I going to say?_

Though renowned for his way with words, Akihiko could not for the life of him figure out what he was actually going to tell Misaki once he saw him. Right into the early hours he'd stayed awake, trying to mentally script himself a heartfelt, apologetic speech to recite during their meeting. Everything he came up with, however, always sounded wrong. It was like all those times he tried to do a chapter or column and his writer's perfectionism kicked in; he'd reworded and revised and redrafted, but nothing was ever good enough.

 _Because it's Misaki._

Resisting the urge to light a cigarette, Akihiko folded his arms tightly. In the end, he had decided he couldn't really rehearse something like this; he just had to say what he felt when the time came. As long as he was honest and true, there should be no reason for Misaki to reject him… Should there?

He began tapping his foot energetically as he checked his watch. 7:55 pm. Dryness overtook Akihiko's mouth, and he gulped it away. The part he was dreading the most, without a doubt, was when he'd inevitably have to explain his actions towards Takahiro. He shuddered. Even now, he had no idea how he was supposed to justify _that_.

 _That's because there's no excuse. All I can do is tell Misaki I'm sorry. I just hope to God he can forgive me…_

Yes, the author had well and truly messed up this time. And if he couldn't fix things tonight, then… He didn't even want to think about it.

After all, Misaki's love for him depended on the conversation they'd soon be having. And Misaki's love… Akihiko's entire _world_ depended on that.

"Usagi-san."

The author almost jumped out of his skin, whirling in the direction of the familiar voice. A bright, white beam from the street lamp stood between the two, making it difficult to see, but that short, slim build and head of shaggy hair was unmistakable.

"Misaki!"

Misaki was standing a few feet away. He seemed to be watching the author, though with the light Akihiko couldn't be sure. Oh, he just wanted wrap the boy up in his arms and tell him how much he missed him. Gathering all the self-control he could muster, he made himself stay still.

A few moments of painful silence passed. Awkwardly, Akihiko cleared his throat. "I… That is, thank you for meeting me."

"Mm-hm," Misaki shoved his hands into the pockets of his oversized hoodie. A pause. "Well, I'm listening."

Swallowing, Akihiko took a deep breath. He could not screw this up. "Okay," he slowly began, "At the party-"

Misaki rolled his eyes. "Oh, _now_ you remember."

" _Misaki_ ," Akihiko took a fraction of a step forwards, "I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean to do it, I swear."

Though usually cold, Akihiko's palms were growing slick. In the light of the street lamp, there was a green glint as Misaki eyed the author. He didn't look the slightest bit convinced.

"Then explain why you did, you jerk."

Raking both hands through his hair, Akihiko released a long, rasping breath in frustration. He hated this; hated remembering what he'd done. "I don't know!" he groaned, "Because I was drunk off my ass and I wasn't thinking straight! It was an accident, okay?"

God, he sounded pathetic. Apparently, the other thought so, too, because he gave Akihiko a withering look.

"That's all you've got? Really?" he said.

He was already blowing it. Panic rising in his chest, Akihiko moved a little further forwards- cautiously, in case Misaki backed off.

"Misaki… I feel terrible," he said, releasing a sigh. The author hung his silver head shamefully, "I can't _believe_ I hurt you like this."

The younger man looked away, but made no move to respond. Heart quickening, Akihiko carried on, "I'll do anything to make it up to you, and I promise, it'll never happen again!"

"… Yeah, right."

The boy's mutter was barely audible over the faint breeze and passing cars. Akihiko's troubled brows lifted as he stared at Misaki in surprise. "What?"

On the other side of the street lamp, Misaki stayed perfectly still, save for the fluttering of his dark hair in the wind. Though he was scarcely more than a silhouette from Akihiko's perspective, he could see- he could _feel_ the boy's heavy dejection as he stood, his hands hidden and his head down.

"Why don't you just admit it, Usagi?" he said, and he sounded so defeated… "It wasn't just the wine. You went after Nii-chan because you're still in love with him."

The words were like a punch in the gut for Akihiko; this was exactly what he'd been afraid of. Had he really destroyed Misaki's trust in him that much? He blanched. As if he wasn't angry enough with himself already, but now Misaki honestly thought…

He couldn't allow this. "Misaki, no, that's not it at all!"

"That's exactly it."

"No, it's _not_ ," the author insisted, "It didn't mean a thing, Misaki- I was just drunk! That's all, I promise!"

His anxiety swelled as he stared desperately at the boy. _Stay calm_ , Akihiko reminded himself. The author's muscles slackened and his voice became softer. "The one I love is you now. You know that."

Misaki lifted his head, but he still didn't look at Akihiko. Instead, he stared over the man's shoulder, gazing emptily at the dark, city-lit sky. The clouds were almost overhead now, casting the whole publishing house in shadow.

"… You know, if it had been anyone besides Nii-chan, I'd probably believe you," he said eventually. At long last, he found the older man's eyes and held them. "But… this is different."

 _No, no, no…_ Shaking his head, the author clenched his fists, "There's no difference-"

"Think about it, Usagi-san," the boy cut across. His voice grew quiet, "You were in love with my brother for ten years. You've only known me for four. That night, on Nii-chan's birthday, I remember thinking… There's no way you could have moved on so quickly…"

Akihiko's heart skipped a beat as his beloved began to sniffle. Quickly, Misaki raised an arm and shielded his brimming eyes, wiping them on his sleeve. "Whether you even realise it or not," he said shakily, "you… I'm not the one you love, Usagi-san. Nii-chan is. Y-you were j-just using me as h-his-"

"No!" Akihiko shouted (It was a good job the streets were so deserted). He let out a breath. "No," he repeated, more quietly. "Misaki, I would _never_ use you like that. And for the last time- _I don't love Takahiro anymore._ " He stressed, pouring as much sincerity as possible into his words.

Sad, green eyes peered out from behind Misaki's arm. "But then, why would you…?"

"I don't know." Sighing, Akihiko dropped his hands, "I honestly don't know."

That was the truth. After all, the author had no reason whatsoever to want Takahiro now- not since Misaki became a part of his life. There was no explanation for what he'd done other than the simple fact that he'd had way too much to drink. That was it, wasn't it?

Wasn't it?

From the look on his face, it was obvious Misaki didn't believe him. Furthermore, as Akihiko forced himself to revisit that night (Takahiro's face, his body, his lips…) he couldn't help but have doubts himself.

Was he trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince Misaki?

Uncertainty crept up on him, though Akihiko tried to ignore it. The summer night air suddenly felt very chilly. Frowning, he looked at the pavement. He… He couldn't possibly still love Takahiro, could he? (At least, not in _that_ way…) Even so, Akihiko couldn't help remembering the way he'd felt when he almost kissed his friend: the shivers running along him, the fire burning inside him…

Bewildered, Akihiko stared down at himself, illuminated by the harsh, artificial street light. Was it truly possible that he…? For a second or two, he just couldn't tell.

But then he looked at Misaki.

Sweet, innocent, selfless Misaki. The boy who had seen everything Takahiro hadn't. The boy who had known Akihiko was hurting and cried for him. The boy who had healed him. As Akihiko beheld him- small and sad and waiting for his answer on the empty street- he knew he hadn't been lying to himself.

Because he had loved Takahiro. But he was _in_ love with Misaki.

"I'm right, aren't I?"

Snapping out of his thoughts, Akihiko hesitated. He covered half of his face with one nervously quivering hand.

"Alright, look…" he said reluctantly, squeezing his eyes shut, " _Maybe_ I still have some feelings left for Takahiro. I'm not sure." As the boy's head tilted down again in disappointment, he hurriedly continued, "But the one thing I can say with certainty, Misaki, is that whatever I may feel for him, it's nothing- _nothing_ \- compared to the way I feel about you."

The shadowy boy was still. Then, gradually, he looked up at Akihiko once more. Wary, emerald green met intense, imploring purple. When he didn't say anything, the author took it as a sign to go on.

"It was a mistake," he said with gentle urgency, "And it was stupid, and pathetic, and disgusting, and you have every right to be furious with me! But please, please, don't ever think that I don't love you. You're so important to me, Misaki."

By the time he uttered the boy's name, Akihiko's voice was little more than a whisper. Shifting, Misaki narrowed his eyes.

"… How do I know you're telling the truth?" he asked.

"I wouldn't lie to the one I care for the most," Akihiko replied, growing quieter still, "I don't want Takahiro, Misaki. Only you."

Nothing more was said. It was so silent, and at that moment, it seemed to Akihiko like he and Misaki were the only two people in the world; he couldn't see anything beyond the figure in front of him. Traffic rushing by was drowned out by the sound of Akihiko's own heart, crashing against his chest. He needed Misaki to know he was wrong. Whatever happened- however this ended- Akihiko would not let Misaki walk away until he understood just how much he meant to the author.

He _had_ to know. Had to…

Tentatively, Akihiko chanced another step towards the other. He cleared the obstructive glare of the light, allowing him to see his beloved in more clarity. It was gloomy, but Akihiko could make out the dark circles beneath Misaki's eyes, the glisten of tear tracks on his face.

 _How could I do this to you?_

But there was something else in Misaki's teary eyes now: a glimmer of hope. When Akihiko reached out for those small, slender hands, the boy didn't resist. The author took them gently in his own, eyes not straying from Misaki's once.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, moving closer, "I'm sorrier than I've ever been in my life. Please, forgive me."

He was so close now that Akihiko felt his heartrate skyrocket. He could even smell Misaki's familiar, unique fragrance as the boy bit his lower lip.

"I don't know…"

But they were already too near. Even as Misaki spoke, some invisible pull was acting on the two of them; their faces were being drawn together unstoppably, magnetically.

The tip of Akihiko's nose grazed against that of the younger. As they came closer still, those lush, green eyes turned soft and half-lidded. Their foreheads touched, and Akihiko closed his eyes, drinking in Misaki's warmth, his scent, his soft hair and his smooth skin.

 _Only you…_

"Please," he breathed against the boy's parted lips, "I love you. I need you."

"That's enough, Usami."

* * *

 **As if Usagi-san's getting let off that easily XD**

 **As always, please tell me what you think- it would be super helpful to know whether or not you guys are still finding the story okay, and also if you've spotted any errors.**

 **Thank you very much for reading. Until next chapter! :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi all! Did you have a happy Christmas? I hope so :)**

 **Sorry for the cliff-hanger last time. I'm afraid this is yet another very emotional chapter- but hey, I did say there'd be a lot of drama XD**

* * *

Misaki let go of Akihiko's hands in surprise. Simultaneously, the two of them swivelled their heads just in time to see a third party emerge from the shadows. Akihiko ground his teeth as he found himself confronted with cold, blue eyes.

 _Of all people, why him?_

"I-Ijuuin-sensei?" Misaki stammered, blinking, "How… How long have you been there for?"

Not taking his eyes off Akihiko, the mangaka smiled grimly. "Long enough." He began to walk forwards, his expensive, white coat swishing around him.

"What do you want?" Akihiko growled, biting back his rage. How _dare_ this guy interrupt his reunion with Misaki? Said boy was looking red and shifty; he was probably embarrassed that his idol had witnessed such a personal conversation. Akihiko frowned at the man, and Ijuuin glared right back, stopping in front of his rival.

"You disgusting man."

A confused 'huh?' sounded from Misaki as Akihiko arched an eyebrow. "What was that?"

Something about him was different than the other times. Ijuuin's usual charming smile was absent, replaced with something much colder as he grimaced at Akihiko. "Forgive me for interrupting, _sensei_ , but I won't let this go on any longer."

Exchanging a confused glance with Misaki, Akihiko folded his arms and stared the mangaka down. "Won't let what go on? Would you mind your own business?" he said with a look of barely concealed loathing.

"Usagi-san..." Misaki's head was whipping nervously from one man to the other. Anger was beginning to radiate off both of them. It was like the interview at Marukawa, only this time, the only one watching was Misaki…

Akihiko didn't care. He'd had just about enough of this relentless, intrusive, infuriating man always trying to steal _his_ Misaki away from him. What was he doing, anyway? Had he seriously just barged into their reunion in a last-ditch attempt to win Misaki over? No way in hell was Akihiko letting that happen.

"If it concerns Takahashi-kun's well-being, it's in every way my business," Ijuuin said. His hands rested in his pockets, his stance calm and relaxed; behind his cool demeanour, however, Akihiko sensed Ijuuin was just as annoyed as him.

"I think it's time to drop the act, don't you?" he said, looking disdainfully at Akihiko from the corner of his eye, "I never liked you, Usami, as I'm sure you know. The way you treated Takahashi-kun has always appalled me, the way you push him around and say those cruel things to him all the time…"

Akihiko's eyes widened. _I would never treat Misaki that way… And even if I did sometimes, it was only because I care about him!_ Misaki didn't say anything to defend Akihiko, which only made matters worse.

"But that was nothing compared to now, now that I know the truth..." the mangaka was saying (Honestly, he could _kill_ this guy), and he sneered at Akihiko. "I can't believe _anyone_ would stoop as low as you."

Akihiko's blood began to simmer. Whatever Ijuuin was trying to do, he wanted it to stop- _now_. "What the hell are you talking about?" he asked him.

"Takahashi-kun," he said, looking at the boy for the first time, "don't believe a word he says. He's lying to you."

Akihiko hissed. Bewildered, Misaki looked to him first, then Ijuuin. "What?"

What was he playing at? Akihiko's fingers dug indignantly into his coat sleeves. "I'm not-"

"You were right all along, Takahashi-kun." Ijuuin cut across. Still calm, still collected. "He doesn't love you- he loves your older brother, Takahiro."

Jaws dropped in unison as the pair both stared at Ijuuin.

"Are you out of your mind?" Akihiko said, and his voice rose to an angry shout, "What the hell do you know about me, or how I feel about who?"

Leisurely, Ijuuin turned his dark head towards Akihiko. His smile was completely gone now. "More than you think, Usami," he said icily, holding Akihiko's fiery glare, "I've heard many… interesting things from certain people. I know how obsessed you are with Takahiro, and I know that you've been deceiving Takahashi-kun to feel close to him these past few years."

The words stung Akihiko, but he had no doubt that they were even more hurtful to Misaki, who suddenly looked very lost. "So… it _is_ true, then…" he said, staring at nothing in particular.

Vigorously, Akihiko shook his head. "No, it's _not_! Misaki, he's talking nonsense!" he insisted, softening as his attention shifted from the mangaka to the boy. "The only person I love is you."

Ijuuin scoffed. "Really? You make me sick, Usami." To Akihiko's unbelievable annoyance, he moved deliberately closer to Misaki. "How can you be so cruel as to string him along like this?"

"You're serious, sensei?" Misaki asked in a small voice. He looked up at Ijuuin with large, sad eyes. "He's really in love with my brother?"

" _Of course I'm not!"_ The author was reaching his limit. He strode towards Misaki, desperate to keep him away from Ijuuin."Misaki, you have to believe me…"

However, the boy looked away. Akihiko was growing frantic by this point. It wasn't supposed to go this way; Misaki was _supposed_ to forgive him. He was meant to embrace the boy, kiss him passionately and take him home where he belonged. They were going to carry on with their lives together happily, like it was meant to be. He'd been so close…

But now, Akihiko was losing him again. All because of _him_ , he thought, glowering at the man standing beside Misaki (My _Misaki…_ ). When the younger looked back up at Akihiko, all the uncertainty and suspicion and insecurity was back; just what Ijuuin wanted.

 _Think again, Ijuuin_ , thought Akihiko. He would _not_ let Misaki slip through his fingers a second time.

"Can't you see he's trying to drive us apart?"

"I'm simply trying to protect Takahashi-kun," Ijuuin retorted, and, looking down at Misaki, laid a hand on his chocolate-brown hair. "I won't let this man use you any longer."

 _Don't you_ dare _touch him…_ Bristling, Akihiko squared his shoulders. "I never used him, and you know it!" he ground out.

Narrowing his eyes at the author, Ijuuin tilted his head. "Do I?" he asked, "It wouldn't be the first time you've manipulated someone in a twisted attempt to feel close to this, this Takahiro. Why would it be any different with his brother?"

A breeze stirred Ijuuin's coat and hair as he stood challengingly, face to face with Akihiko. The author himself just stared at him, arms still folded and eyebrows knitted in confusion. 'Manipulated someone to feel close to Takahiro'…? What did that even mean?

 _He's nuts_ , Akihiko concluded, _He's so desperate to take Misaki for himself that he's saying stuff that doesn't even make sense. He's a complete lunatic._

Evidently, Misaki was having similar thoughts. He sidled away from the mangaka, looking uneasily towards Akihiko. "Usagi, what is he talking about?"

"I don't have a damn clue!" Agitated, he pushed a hand through his hair (it was growing dishevelled from his constant repetition of the action). He could feel how drawn and tense the muscles in his face were. Really, this whole situation was ludicrous; he just wanted to set things straight with Misaki, and this jerk had to show up spouting nonsense?

He turned on his rival once again. "Why don't you just piss off, and take your ridiculous lies with you?" he said.

Ijuuin sniggered. " _My_ lies? It's _you_ that's been lying to Takahashi-kun, Usami- and keeping secrets from him, too."

Oh, for the love of… "What kind of crap are you talking now?"

Half of the mangaka was obscured by shadow as he slowly moved closer to Akihiko. However, in the harsh, cold light of the street lamp, Akihiko saw those lips begin to curl upwards. He swallowed.

"Surely you can't have forgotten?" Ijuuin's voice was thin, and his smile was- there was no other word for it- devious. "Admit it, Usami- You'll use anyone you can as a substitute for Takahiro. Even Misaki. Even…" he waited for a moment, "… Your childhood friend, Hiroki."

Akihiko's blood turned to ice in his veins.

 _No… There's no way he could…_ Hell, even Akihiko himself had nearly forgotten about that! But Ijuuin's tell-tale smirk said it all. He knew. Both Akihiko's arms and jaw slackened and hung limply as Misaki turned to him, puzzled.

"Um," he said, "What's this about Usagi-san's childhood friend, now…?"

Ijuuin's face took on a sympathetic expression as he turned back to Misaki. "Usami used him, Takahashi-kun- just as he used you." _Shut up, shut up, shut up…_ Misaki was never supposed to find out about this! "Apparently, he wore a blindfold so he could imagine it was your brother and took advantage of his friend."

Misaki's eyes bugged in his head as Akihiko looked on in horror. He'd told him. Ijuuin had actually _told_ him… The mangaka flashed Akihiko a satisfied grin before adding, "Or, so I hear."

For a long while, the only sound was that of the traffic whizzing by. Akihiko was frozen to the spot. He gaped at the other man, who wore an expression of impossible smugness; his perfect, white teeth gleamed in the artificial light. Never in his life had Akihiko wanted to hit someone so badly. _You…_ he glared daggers at Ijuuin, _You… sneaky, sly little weasel…_

"No way…" Misaki broke the silence with an uncertain laugh, "That's impossible, sensei…"

"How the _fuck_ do you know about that?!" Akihiko exploded, livid. He was so incredibly incensed that he only realised his slip-up when Misaki turned around, looking at Akihiko oddly.

"You mean… It really happened?"

The author faltered. _Oh, shit…_ Misaki raised his eyebrows.

"Seriously?" he said, "You hooked up with someone and blindfolded yourself so you could _pretend_ he was my brother?"

Silence. "You actually did that?"

He couldn't deny it, nor could Akihiko bear to confirm it. Damn Kyo Ijuuin, _why_ did he have to bring this up? For once, the Great Akihiko Usami was lost for words. He stood, helpless, as Misaki's features twisted in utter revulsion.

"Are you freaking kidding me?" he yelled, thunderstruck, "My God, that is just sick! How… How could you _do_ something like that to your friend- and you never even mentioned it to me!"

A bead of sweat rolled off Akihiko's forehead. Meanwhile, Ijuuin- his work done- stepped back and leaned against the lamppost, watching.

"Misaki, I-"

But Misaki wasn't listening. "I can't believe you! Here I was about to forgive you, and you… Oh, I should have known!" he spat, seething, "The day I met you, I should have known you couldn't be trusted! Hanging all over Nii-chan like that…"

"Misaki!" Akihiko cried, "Listen- Yes, it happened, and yes, I kept it from you, but it was a long time ago, and it was before-"

"What?" said Misaki angrily (Akihiko had never seen him this mad…), "Before you found someone easier and dumber to be your new Takahiro-stand-in?"

" _Before I fell in love with you!_ "

Panting ever so slightly, Akihiko stared desperately at his beloved. He couldn't believe this was happening. He _couldn't_ let Misaki go like this… Not while he was doubting Akihiko's feelings for him… Those gorgeous, green eyes held so much hatred; Akihiko felt like he was drowning in it.

Slowly, incredulously, Misaki shook his head. "You bastard. You dirty, lying bastard."

"Misaki…"

"You really don't care about _anyone_ , do you? People like me are just tools to you, aren't they?! To think, this whole time, it was my brother…" A shudder shook his frame, "God knows what else you've been hiding from me, you creep! You liar!"

He brandished his accusations like knives, cutting through Akihiko again and again. His throat tightened. "Misaki, I promise you I'm not lying!" he said, "Call me idiotic, repulsive, whatever- anything but a liar. I _know_ I've really fucked up, but please, understand how much I lo-!"

" _Shut up!"_

Even Ijuuin looked startled at Misaki's sudden, violent outburst. Akihiko drew back, wounded, as the boy lowered his head.

"No more lies. I… I feel like such an idiot," he mumbled, his face a mask of shadows, "I believed every word you said to me, you know. I was… I was prepared to spend the rest of my life with you."

Akihiko stepped forwards. "So was _I_. I'm telling the truth, Misaki, I-"

" _Enough_." He said in a voice so hard, so cold, that Akihiko barely recognized it. When Misaki looked up again, Akihiko saw his face shimmering with fresh tear streams in the half-light.

"I… I'm done. You and I are through."

Akihiko's heart seized. He couldn't move; for a second or two, he forgot how to even breathe.

"… No, Misaki, _please_ -"

"I said, I'm _done_!" Misaki was crying freely now, and he looked the other right in the eyes. "I don't ever want to see you again, Akihiko Usami!"

 _Akihiko._ It was just one of the author's many names, but it held such terrible meaning coming from Misaki's mouth, spoken with such venom... The boy's tear-streaked face was thick with decision and detestation, and Akihiko knew then that there was no changing his mind.

This time, he had truly, irrevocably lost him.

Everything seemed to slow to a halt at that moment. The city was unnaturally still, and a strange numbness overcame Akihiko. He stood, motionless, and looked at the boy who was no longer his.

"That's it?" he said in a dull, dull voice, "After everything I did for you?"

Misaki didn't answer. He held his ground, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Akihiko's eyes didn't stray from him. He still had to tell him.

"I'm not lying to you," he said, "There isn't another living soul who loves you as much as I do."

Akihiko had almost forgotten they weren't alone until a hand appeared on Misaki's shoulder. While the boy looked away, weeping, Akihiko lifted his gaze to Ijuuin. His smile was as wide as could be.

"That's where you're wrong."

And just like that, it was all over. Akihiko didn't want to go- didn't want to end things this way- but there was nothing more to do or say.

So, he took one last, long look at Misaki. He felt hollow. Finally, he turned and walked away, knowing as he did so that he was leaving his one, his only, his entire _life_ behind- but his head was in a stupor and his feet seemed to move by themselves. The darkness and coldness of the night-time seemed to engulf Akihiko as he moved mechanically through the streets.

He should run back, some little voice said to him. Hold the boy as tightly as he could. Plead. Beg. Do something- anything- to get him back. But, he thought as he trudged blindly along, it was already much too late now. Misaki's face, his voice… He called him _Akihiko_ …

 _I'm not his Usagi-san anymore… He thinks I don't love him… He hates me…_

Halfway home now, and he realised his face was wet. When had it started raining? All the city lights surrounding him- headlights, streetlamps, lit windows- flared and blurred into one and Akihiko stopped, eyes burning and unable to see.

 _I don't ever want to see you again, Akihiko Usami!_

A single droplet splashed onto the pavement by Akihiko's feet. And another, and another. A dull ache was forming in his chest. His heart, already so damaged, was shattering again- as there was no-one, he realised, to hold the pieces together anymore. It hurt so much… The pain dragged Akihiko back to reality, and he looked around, dazed. It was quiet, and he was utterly alone.

 _As I always will be._

Underneath the cloud-covered sky, Akihiko clutched at his heart. He knew he should carry on home, but his eyes were full and he couldn't see, and it was dark, and his chest wouldn't stop heaving and hurting and oh, God, he'd made the worst mistake of his life and now Misaki was gone and what was he going to do?

More tears flooded his cheeks, and a broken whisper escaped the author as he cried.

"Misaki…"

* * *

 **Yeeeaaahhh... Sorry. I know a lot of you were hoping they'd get back together right away, but let's face it: if that happened, there'd be no story!**

 **This chapter was tricky because I was trying to make the characters' thoughts and actions seem natural given the circumstances, but since I've never seen any of them in a situation like this in the anime, I wasn't really sure how they'd react, so I had to kind of go with my gut. I mean, I know Usagi-san doesn't usually cry, but I felt like he would if he lost Misaki. I also figured Misaki would be pretty pissed off if he heard about Usagi-san and Hiroki, so that's how I wrote him. I hope they don't seem too OOC...**

 **As for Ijuuin, there isn't a whole lot to go on in the anime, but I always got the feeling he was holding back around Usagi-san. So this is how I imagine him showing his true colours.**

 **ANYWAY, I do hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, even though I know most of you won't be happy about the ending! Now, feel free to shout at me for being a mean author, but please don't leave me a bunch of reviews asking how Ijuuin could know about Usagi-san and Hiroki. All WILL be explained. ;)**

 **Thank you very much for reading and I will see you next chapter :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Happy New Year! :)**

 **This is a pretty long chapter. I considered splitting it up, but I figured it would be okay to just lump all these scenes together. They're basically little glimpses of Misaki trying to deal with his first heartbreak.**

* * *

 _I really said it._

Usagi-san was getting further and further away. Despite the fact that it was Misaki who sent him, he couldn't help but feel like some important piece of him was being torn away as he watched the man go. Did he really just do that? Just a few weeks ago, if someone had told Misaki he was going break things off with Usagi-san, he would not have believed them in a million years.

But things were different now. _Everything_ had changed.

The retreating figure of the author finally faded into the darkness. Staring at the now empty, black void ahead, Misaki was only vaguely aware of the man beside him, even when he said his name.

"Takahashi-kun-"

Before he could even begin, Misaki shrugged his hand away, turned and started walking in the opposite direction to Usagi-san. He could hear Ijuuin calling after him, but he didn't care. Misaki didn't want to talk to him, nor did he want to go back to Todo's. Right now, he just needed to be alone.

Late summer air breezed across Misaki's face, making it feel cold where his tears had fallen. As the wind dried Misaki's eyes, they did not refill. His footsteps became heavier and heavier, until he was practically stomping his way through the streets.

He'd never been so angry in his life.

Emotions of all kinds were raging inside him: sorrow, humiliation, hurt. But surpassing all of them was fury. Raw, sizzling anger. Misaki clenched his teeth as he made his way briskly through the city. He felt so… betrayed. To be played, used, lied to by the one he'd put so much trust into… It was more than he could take.

 _The only one I love is you._

 _Liar, liar, liar…_

Something inside Misaki suddenly snapped. With a shout, he grabbed the handle of his messenger bag and swung it into the nearest wall with all of his might. Again and again he whacked it, pouring his rage into the blows.

" _Bastard!"_ he screamed, not caring who heard him, "Horrible, lying, two-faced son of a _bitch_!"

He beat the wall in time with his words, over and over until finally, he let his arms drop. His shoulders heaved as he panted. Dizziness overcame him, and he slumped against the wall.

 _So, this is what it feels like,_ he thought as his eyes began dripping again, _to have your heart broken._

Hearing what Ijuuin said had been like having a bomb dropped on him. Seeing his love and his brother together had been distressing enough, but now… Misaki cringed as a horrible image of Usagi-san came to mind, blindfolded and crying out Takahiro's name in the arms of another man. It made him want to retch.

How could Usagi-san- his childish, lovable, big rabbit- have done such a thing?

Misaki always knew his boyfriend wasn't perfect. He knew he was aloof and arrogant and irresponsible. He knew he was hopeless when it came to housework, and he drove his editor crazy by skipping important events and constantly missing his deadlines. The author wasn't always courteous to Misaki himself, poking fun at his height, or his grades, or whatever. He'd always had his flaws, and Misaki had known and accepted and loved them all the same.

But never- never, ever- would Misaki have ever thought Usagi-san could possibly be so… so…

 _There's not even a word for it_ , he thought. Disgusting. Deceitful. Despicable. None of them felt fitting enough to Misaki, who pressed his eyes into his sleeve in a fruitless attempt to stem the flow of tears. It was no use; once he started crying, he simply couldn't stop.

If there was one thing he could have always said about Usagi-san, no matter what happened, it was that he was _kind_. Misaki didn't know anyone else as kind, caring and thoughtful as Akihiko Usami.

Or so he thought.

And that was why, when he went to speak with him that evening, he'd been so certain that everything would be okay. Despite the reluctant way in which he'd acted, the truth was, Misaki had already made up his mind when Usagi-san made to kiss him. He'd been so desperate to make up with the man who was so important to him, he'd been ready to forgive and forget right there on the spot. Usagi-san was right- a mistake was a mistake. So what if he might still feel something for Takahiro, as long as he truly loved Misaki?

But now, as he cried by himself on a dark, lonely street, Misaki was forced to come to terms with the awful truth: Usagi-san did not love him. When Kyo Ijuuin arrived on the scene, he had taken Usagi-san's mask and destroyed it, revealing the true person lurking beneath; the one that was, and always would be, infatuated with Misaki's _brother_. This person, this side of Usagi-san that he had never known existed, was willing to do anything, use anyone, for his own desires. Even Misaki.

 _Well, not anymore._ Sniffling angrily, Misaki pushed himself off the wall and started towards Todo's place. As he walked, he made a silent vow to himself: that he would never, ever allow anyone else to treat him that way.

He never wanted to feel pain like this again.

 _To hell with you, Usagi-san,_ Misaki thought bitterly, wiping his eyes once more. Shitty Usagi. He hated him. He wanted nothing to do with him.

So then, why was he still crying?

* * *

"You're _kidding_?" exclaimed Sumi over the phone, "With _Professor Kamijou_?"

"I guess."

Lying on his friend's uncomfortable couch, Misaki clutched a cushion to his chest. He'd spent the past few days alternating between weeping and doing his 'everything's totally fine' act whenever Todo was around. He had barely spoken to anyone, but when Sumi called him for the ten millionth time, Misaki had no choice but to pick up and recount the whole, awful ordeal to his senpai, who listened with rapt attention on the other end.

"Shit…" Sumi murmured after a while, "And it's definitely true?"

"I didn't believe it either, at first," said Misaki, "But yeah. Usagi-san said so himself."

Sumi cursed again. "I'm really, really sorry, Misaki. You must be devastated."

"I'm just…"

His fingers dug into Todo's cushion, "I feel like such a _fool_ ," he finally said, turning onto his side. "I can't believe I fell for all of his bullshit…"

A hum emitted from the phone. "It _was_ a long time ago," Sumi pointed out, "He might have changed since then. You never know."

"Senpai, he wore a _blindfold_ and tried to pretend a totally different guy was my brother," sadly, Misaki closed his eyes, "If that doesn't prove he's nothing but a user, I don't know what does."

Apparently, he had Sumi convinced, because he didn't make any more arguments. Instead, he asked, "How did that manga guy even find out, anyway?"

"No idea," Misaki said. The memory of his idol, grinning so wickedly as he brought Misaki's world crashing down around him, only made the boy feel worse.

"So… how are you doing?" Sumi asked cautiously, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm… fine," he said, lying through his teeth, "He was an ass anyway. Good riddance to him."

Sumi didn't seem convinced. "Are you s-" he stopped abruptly, and Misaki heard the indecipherable mumble of another person on the other end.

"Alright, alright, just give me a second. Sorry, Misaki, I have to go," he said, sounding apologetic, "But call or text me if you need anything, okay?"

"'Kay," he said, hoping Sumi wouldn't hear the strain in his voice, "Thanks, senpai."

He hung up. Misaki crushed the cushion against himself, taking deep breaths to try and get rid of the tightness in his throat. He was _not_ going to start crying. He'd done enough of that in the past few days to last him a lifetime.

Irritably, he rubbed his sore eyes. Why couldn't he stop? It wasn't fair; Usagi-san didn't deserve his tears.

In the blank screen of his phone, Misaki caught sight of himself. He looked less than his best: red, swollen eyes, pale face and hair even messier than usual. _That's not good_ , he thought, getting off the couch, _I need to put my happy face back on before Todo comes home._

The now essentially homeless boy was feeling guiltier than ever about taking up his friend's space like this. As he used Todo's bathroom to wash his face and combed his wild mane with Todo's hairbrush, Misaki scolded himself.

 _You've been here way too long already. Time to find your own place and support yourself like a real adult._

He'd been so certain he'd have returned to Usagi-san's condo by now, Misaki hadn't really thought about what he'd do otherwise. He supposed he could find somewhere cheap until he started his job at Marukawa- or even stay with Takahiro, if he had to. Misaki occasionally thought about asking Ijuuin for his estate agent friend's phone number, but the image of his smug face on the night of the breakup always stopped him.

 _Not even he seemed to care if I got hurt_ , he thought sadly. At least he had Sumi. And Todo. And Takahiro. But, without Usagi-san…

 _Get it together, Misaki._

Still staring at himself in the mirror, Misaki slapped and pinched at his cheeks until a little colour returned to them. He gripped the basin with shaky hands, inhaling and exhaling deeply.

"I can't keep moping like this. I have to move forwards," he told himself. Unfortunately, it was easier said than done.

* * *

Pale, September sunlight filled the editing office as various employees rushed around, carrying documents and shouting instructions to one another. Misaki hunched at a small table, groggily sorting surveys. Somehow, even though he was facing the other way, he knew exactly whose shadow it was that fell across the desk before they even spoke.

"Good morning, Takahashi-kun."

Misaki didn't look up. "Hello, Ijuuin-sensei," he said, continuing to shuffle through the pile of surveys. Genius behind _The Kan_ or not, Misaki wasn't too keen on Ijuuin since last they spoke.

He felt, rather than saw, the mangaka lean against the desk.

"How are you?" A seemingly innocuous question, but Misaki had the distinct feeling that Ijuuin was just using pleasantries as a means of building up to a more sensitive subject.

Misaki stifled a sigh. He was _not_ in the mood for such games at the moment. "Fine, thanks," he said tersely, hoping Ijuuin would take the hint and leave him alone.

"Are you sure?" the older man asked, "You look a little tired."

 _I_ am _tired_ , thought Misaki crossly. His thoughts and dreams of Usagi-san had kept him awake all night again, resulting in him being a little crabbier than usual as well as late for work.

"Really, sensei, I'm fine. Just had a late night."

Misaki's inner fanboy was berating him wildly for being so unfriendly to his idol. Part of him knew it was unfair- indeed, by exposing Usagi-san's true nature, Ijuuin had done him a favour. But, Misaki thought as he pictured Ijuuin's satisfied expression that night, it was the way he took such obvious _pleasure_ in destroying the pair's relationship that really ticked the boy off.

Ijuuin still hadn't moved. "Takahashi-kun, please look at me."

"Hm?" Misaki turned his head, "What is it?"

Ijuuin was propped up against the small desk, legs crossed and arms folded. His expression was completely serious (which was unusual, given who he was talking to) as he looked down at the boy.

"Are you angry with me?"

The part-timer tensed at the table. Without moving a muscle, Ijuuin stood and waited. _This guy…_ Misaki thought, _Why does he always have to be so blunt?_

Ijuuin saw him hesitating. "Because if you are, I'd rather you just said so."

"Well, uh…" There was no point in pretending, he supposed. Misaki rubbed the back of his neck, "I mean… yeah. Sort of."

On Ijuuin's fetching face appeared the tiniest of frowns. Resting an elbow on the desk, he lowered himself to Misaki's level.

"The other evening," he began, and Misaki looked away. Ijuuin almost sounded hurt as he went on, "I was only doing what I thought was the right thing, Takahashi-kun."

A small pang of guilt stabbed through Misaki. "I-I know that, sensei…"

"I'm sorry about what Usami did to you, I really am." As he spoke, Ijuuin turned and folded his arms on the table, looking sideways at Misaki, "And I didn't want to have to be the one to break it to you, but-"

"Yes, you did."

It came out a little snappier than Misaki intended. Ijuuin's eyebrows shot up.

"I'm sorry?"

Letting out a long breath, Misaki turned to face the mangaka. "Sensei, I know you were just trying to help me, and I appreciate it. But, well…" How did he say this without sounding too rude? "Don't pretend you didn't enjoy doing what you did."

Ijuuin's brow creased. "Why would I enjoy making you unhappy?"

"That's not what I meant," said Misaki, indignantly stacking papers, "I could tell you just _loved_ pulling the rug out from under Usagi-san. And you enjoyed watching me say all that stuff to him, too- I know you did."

Misaki's politeness was dissipating as he grew more annoyed. He wished Ijuuin would stop playing so innocent already. He'd seen the look on the man's face that night.

Said man was looking sheepish. "I wouldn't say I _enjoyed_ it…"

"Oh, come on." Misaki slapped a sheaf of paper onto the desk, making Ijuuin start. "You might as well have been eating popcorn in 3D glasses."

Wide, blue eyes stared at Misaki in shock. He continued, "Don't lie, okay? You're clearly not sorry at all- You're happy as can be that I left him."

As much as he tried not to, Misaki choked a little on the last part. Ijuuin blinked. It was lucky there were so many ringing telephones, whirring photocopiers and chattering people to drown them out; otherwise, the pair would probably be attracting quite a bit of attention by now.

Pushing his fingers into his dark hair, Ijuuin sighed heavily. When he looked back at Misaki, his face was solemn.

"Fine. It's true- I am happy," he said, "But it's not just because Usami's out of the picture now, though I'll admit that's part of it." Misaki scowled at that, but Ijuuin kept talking, resting his chin on his arms, "I've said it before, Takahashi-kun, and I'll say it again: I just don't think that man treated you right. I think you deserve better."

The younger man could feel his cheeks colouring. "I agree with you, sensei," he said, "It's just, you seemed so pleased to be ratting Usagi-san out, like… like you _wanted_ to see me get hurt."

At this, Ijuuin's face softened considerably.

"Takahashi-kun," he said gently, "believe me when I say that was the last thing I wanted. I knew that I shouldn't really be prying into your relationship with Usami, but when I heard about what he did, well… I thought it was only fair that you knew the truth. Don't you think I did the right thing?" he asked.

Setting down the last of the surveys, Misaki crossed his arms. "I guess…" he mumbled, "But still, you didn't have to be so… spiteful to him."

"But, Takahashi-kun," puzzled, Ijuuin tilted his head to the side, "Didn't he deserve it?"

Misaki faltered. The other was right- why the hell was he getting so defensive? It was shitty Usagi they were talking about, after all.

"I… I guess, he did," he said, his head gradually, unconsciously lowering (as was often the case when he was uncomfortable). He shoved the surveys half-heartedly to one side as Ijuuin asked,

"Then, why are you upset?"

"I don't know," he admitted, screwing his eyes shut, "I-I'm sorry, sensei. I have no right to be mad at you. I've just been kind of… messed up for the past couple of days."

When he opened them again, they were met with a sympathetic look. "I understand. It must be difficult, coming to terms with what he did to you." Ijuuin said.

Misaki leaned back in his seat. "I just can't believe he'd do something so… sordid."

Or rather, he didn't _want_ to believe it. As much as he now hated Usagi-san, Misaki couldn't deny that he missed him. How could he not? He'd been with him for so long, loved him so much…

Tears pricked his eyes before Misaki even realised it. Tenderly, Ijuuin laid a hand on his shoulder.

"The truth can hurt, I know. But still, I thought it was best that you knew, Takahashi-kun." He looked at Misaki with concern, "That's why I did what I did. I'm sorry if it seemed like I was being malicious, but was honestly just trying to protect you."

But Misaki shook his head.

"No, you're right. You didn't do anything wrong- He deserved every word of it." The younger's voice grew firmer and more decisive, "And… I'm better off without him, anyway."

The corners of Ijuuin's mouth turned up again. Suddenly remembering it was not just anybody, but one of Misaki's heroes that was smiling down at him, he ducked his head shyly.

"I'm glad you realise that," Ijuuin said. Misaki remained quiet. "So… we're still friends?"

"Uh, yes," said Misaki with a jolt, "Yes, of course."

The taller man's smile widened, to the point that his eyes closed happily. "Good."

There was a pause, and Misaki's cheeks reddened.

"So, anyway, sensei," he said, fidgeting awkwardly, "about that friend of yours- the estate agent?"

Just as Ijuuin was about to reply, however, a third voice interrupted them.

"Ijuuin-sensei, we have to be at the meeting in five minutes."

Turning in his seat, Misaki saw Ijuuin's editor, Shizuku, standing a few feet away. He always looked kind of sullen, so it might just have been Misaki's imagination, but the young man seemed to be scowling at him.

"Alright, I'm coming," Ijuuin called over his shoulder. Then he turned back to the smaller man.

"I'll text you his number as soon as I'm home." With a final pat to Misaki's shoulder, Ijuuin began walking away from the desk, towards the exit. He stopped and looked behind him before going, that charming smile never leaving his face. "See you later, Takahashi-kun."

"Thank you, sensei," Misaki said, and waved. He was about to get back to work when he noticed Shizuku still hadn't moved. Confused, he watched as Ijuuin was submerged in the crowd of employees. Shouldn't his editor be following him?

"Hey, you."

"Hm?"

Shizuku's dull, dark eyes seemed to bore right into Misaki's. "Don't distract Ijuuin-sensei while he's at work."

"Oh, um, sorry. I didn't actually…"

But Shizuku was already walking away. Misaki's voice quietened to a mumble, and he hurriedly returned to his previous task. _What's with that guy?_ He wondered, _Does he not like me?_ Inwardly, he shrugged. It didn't really matter, he supposed- although, since he was going to be working full-time at Marukawa, maybe he should try to keep his distance from Ijuuin.

Even so, he thought as he busied himself, he was glad the man had spoken to him today.

After the hellish few days following his and Usagi-san's breakup, Misaki was feeling better for the first time. Only a tiny bit better, but better. Ijuuin had helped to open his eyes; he _was_ better off without Usagi-san. He'd been telling himself that repeatedly, but Misaki hadn't quite been able to believe it until now.

 _Even if I miss him, that doesn't mean I want him back in my life_ , he told himself, gathering his papers together, _I should just forget about him._

He stopped for a second, frowning. Was it even possible, though, to completely forget about someone he had loved so much? Even if he despised him now?

No, no, no. Misaki shook his head. He couldn't think like that; for his own sake, he had to move on.

Besides, he realised as he stood up to use the photocopier, the Usagi-san he loved and missed wasn't even the real Usagi-san- just a disguise the man wore in order to fool Misaki. Misaki had no reason to miss him, because the Usagi-san he loved didn't exist, never had existed.

So, Misaki reasoned as he made his way through the busy office, why bother being sad about the loss of such a person? What was there to be sad about?

 _I_ won't _be sad_ , Misaki assured himself, a little more confidence entering his stride. He could do this! Maybe it would hurt for a while, but with the right mind-set, he'd be over stupid Usagi in no time. He wouldn't waste time missing him- he _didn't_ miss him. He… he wasn't even in love with Usagi-san anymore.

He wasn't. Not even a little bit.

Really.

* * *

 **I know you guys don't like Ijuuin, but I need to him to move the story along, okay? :P**

 **Still, I hope you enjoyed that. Sorry that Misaki's been so un-Misaki-like in the past few chapters- he'll probably be more like his usual self as the story goes on.**

 **Also just a heads up: I have to be studying a lot for exams this week, so the next chapter MIGHT be delayed. I will do my best to have it up at the weekend like usual, but I can't guarantee it. Sorry DX I know it's annoying when authors don't update regularly, but sometimes it can't be avoided.**

 **I have one last thing I'd like to apologize for, and that's for the lack of fluff so far. It will come eventually, I promise. XD**

 **Thank you very much for reading, and for all of your lovely reviews. It makes me so happy reading your comments! See you next chapter :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**I'm sooo sorry this took so long! I had so much school work to do, and I had to keep re-writing this because I wasn't happy with it and... gah. Thank you all for being so patient- the next one will be up faster, I swear!**

 **Anyhow, here's a nice long chapter to make up for the wait, in which Akihiko makes a rather drastic decision in his despair...**

* * *

Misaki writhed beneath the author, sweat glistening on his smooth, bare skin as he panted. Tightening his hold on the boy, Akihiko trailed kisses along his slender neck, exposed as Misaki tipped his head back in pleasure. He was burning up with him. Akihiko went lower, pressing his lips to Misaki's heated flesh with increasing fervour.

Sharp fingernails raked into the author's back as Misaki let out a whimper.

"U-Usagi-san…"

His face was like fire to Akihiko's cool palm. When he looked up, the glittering, green eyes that met Akihiko's were so full of longing it sent shivers down his spine.

"Misaki," he whispered, smoothing the boy's hair off his damp forehead, "I love you so much."

Their lips met. Misaki's were soft and sweet and Akihiko melted into them, leaning forwards and gently pushing him down onto the bed once more. Moaning, Misaki wound his arms around the other's neck.

They drew apart slowly, reluctantly. Misaki didn't let go of Akihiko, who couldn't help but smile as he gazed down at his precious boy.

"I love you," he said again.

Misaki trembled. "Usagi-san…" he said between gasps, "I… I…"

"Usami-sensei!"

The door to the toy-littered bedroom flew open with a bang. Groaning as he was yanked from his dreams, Akihiko flung the covers over his head, blocking out the light pouring in from the hallway. His head was pounding. He noticed the cold, empty space beside him, and his heart plummeted.

 _Just dreaming of the past again…_

"Usami-sensei, get your lazy ass out of bed this second!"

He could hear the click of Aikawa-san's heels as she moved around the mountain of toys with practised ease. Mentally uttering a silent string of curses, he lowered the comforter and trained his infamous 'morning-death-stare' on his editor. She was standing- immaculate as ever- with her hands on her hips, regarding the hungover mess in front of her disapprovingly.

"What have I told you about waking me up?"

Ice-blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "Well, if you'd had the decency to answer your phone any of the twenty-two times I called you, I wouldn't have had to come here in the first place!" she said, pursing her painted lips.

Well, it was hardly Akihiko's fault for not answering; he'd turned off his laptop and mobile and unplugged the house phone, so of course he wouldn't know she was calling him. Why the hell had she called so many times, anyway? Whatever the reason, it was way too early for Akihiko- who felt like death at that very moment- to deal with it.

He retreated underneath the covers again. Instantly, Aikawa-san made an indignant noise and seized them. Akihiko kept a tight grip on the sheets, starting a mini tug-of-war with his editor.

"Get out of there!" she grunted, "You can't just- Oh, sensei!"

There was a clanking noise- she'd found the empty beer cans beside his bed.

"What's the meaning of this?" she demanded, her shrill voice drilling into Akihiko's sore head, "Have you been drinking before bed? You idiot!"

At last, she managed to wrench the comforter from his grip. A blast of cold struck Akihiko, and he growled, curling in on himself like a woodlouse.

"You should really take better care of yourself- _and_ your house," she added, "That first floor looks like a bomb hit it! Honestly, if it weren't for Misaki-kun, you'd be dead by now…"

"Aikawa-san," he said in a voice like sandpaper, "Get. Out."

He aimed one purple, bloodshot, evil eye at her. Aikawa-san glared right back, not shutting her huge pink trap for one second. "I'm not going anywhere, thank you very much! Have you forgotten what day it is?"

"The day I finally murder my editor?"

Grabbing Suzuki-san- who was lying next to him- she thumped him over the head with the giant bear. "Today is your _deadline_ , Usami-sensei!"

He leaned tiredly against the stuffed toy. "Deadline…?"

"Yes, deadline!" she repeated as she crossed her arms, "For your latest book? The one that's expected to be Marukawa Shoten's biggest seller this year? The one you've spent the last two weeks finishing?"

That's right, his new mystery novel. He knew he was forgetting something.

"Oh… That." God, his mouth tasted vile. Reaching for his nightstand, Akihiko grabbed a half-empty packet of smokes and a lighter while his editor rolled her eyes.

"Yes. We have until eight to submit it, so I want to give the last chapter a once over before we do," she said, "Have you finished it like I asked you to?"

He flicked open his lighter. "Nope."

Aikawa-san clicked her tongue in annoyance. "Well, you've at least started, right? How many pages?"

"Zero."

Tendrils of smoke started drifting across the room. "Sensei, I'm really not in the mood for jokes," Aikawa-san said, "How much of the final chapter have you written?"

"Nothing." He replied, taking another drag.

There was a pause. "Nothing," she repeated, her face unreadable as she stared at the author.

"Mm-hm."

Silence.

"Sensei," said Aikawa-san finally, and her voice (Akihiko knew this was a warning sign) was utterly calm, "You have had two weeks to write less than thirty pages. Are you honestly telling me that you've spent that entire time doing _absolutely nothing_?"

The only sound was that of Akihiko, slowly sucking in a lungful of smoke. Aikawa-san watched him, waiting. He blew it out.

"Yup."

 _Thud_.

"SENSEI!" she screeched as her bag hit the floor, tubes of lipstick and mascara rolling in all directions, "Are you fucking _kidding_ me?"

Lunging forwards, she grabbed him by the shoulders, causing him to drop what was left of his cigarette. He looked up at Aikawa-san, irritated, and was met with blue-dusted eyes, wild with fury.

"I thought we talked about this!" she yelled, practically spitting. Akihiko wiped his unshaven cheek. "You _cannot_ keep putting things off until the last minute! Do you have any idea how much trouble I'm going to get into if I don't show up with your manuscript by eight O'clock tonight?!"

Her _voice_ … It was cleaving through Akihiko's cranium. Rubbing his greasy hair (when was the last time he showered…?), he grabbed another cigarette and lit it, hoping the nicotine would soothe his hangover a little.

As he sat back against the headboard, Aikawa-san continued to rant at him. "You have no consideration whatsoever for other people, do you?" she said, waving her arms around like a conductor, "It might not matter to _you_ if the manuscript isn't finished on time, but _I'm_ the one who has to convince the printers to wait another week while you get your act together… Hey, listen to me when I'm talking to you!"

On and on she went, shrieking about how it was so easy for Akihiko to slack off, and how nobody _ever_ said a word to him if he missed the deadline, oh, _no_ \- Aikawa-san worked all day and night to help him make his writing the best it could be, and yet _she_ was the one who got the blame when his manuscript was turned in two weeks late, and everyone said it was because the editor was incompetent, when really it was because the WRITER was too _lazy_ and _selfish_ and _up himself_ to bother meeting his deadlines, and so on, and so on…

Only half-listening, Akihiko tapped away the quivering ash at the end of his cigarette. The panda-shaped ashtray was so crammed that half of it was sprinkled over the nightstand. It was getting filthy… Not just the nightstand, but the whole condo.

 _He'd kill me if he saw this place…_

As he reached for yet another smoke, Aikawa-san began pacing up and down the bedroom. Strands hair were falling out of her previously neat bun, and she was clutching her face with long, false nails.

"Ugh, I can't believe this…" she moaned, "You've had two weeks, sensei. Two weeks! Now how are we going to finish in time?"

He shrugged, and she glared.

"Why are you still just sitting there?! Get the hell up and write me those last pages!"

Her command was accompanied by several shoves as she tried to forcibly remove the author from his bed. Irked, he shuffled away from her to the other side of the mattress, bringing Suzuki-san with him. "No."

The editor exploded.

" _What do you mean, no?!"_ she cried, stamping her foot. Her fists clenched by her sides as she stood at the foot of the bed. "I'm sick and tired of this, Usami-sensei! You might think it's okay for you to just work whenever you feel like it, but when you have a deadline, _you meet it_. Writing isn't just your hobby anymore- it's your _job_!"

He took another drag. "Not anymore."

Aikawa-san frowned. "What?"

"I said, not anymore." The author's head drooped. He was so tired… "I'm done writing. To hell with that stupid book."

A very un-ladylike snort escaped the editor. "Oh, sensei, don't be ridiculous. Instead of pretending to give up because it suits you, just-"

"Aikawa-san, I mean it," he snapped, and her mouth became a neat, pink 'O'. "I'm never writing another word again."

With that, he angled himself away from her, puffing moodily on his cigarette. It was so silent, one could almost hear the traces of ash scattering over the bedsheets.

Tentatively, Aikawa-san took two tiny steps forward, hovering by the side of the bed. "Okay, sensei, what's going on?" She still sounded annoyed, but her words were tinged with concern, "Your house is a wreck, you're drinking yourself to sleep, and now you're saying you don't want to write ever again? You can't seriously mean that- Writing is your passion, isn't it?"

"I repeat:" he said, "Not anymore."

"Has something happened? Come on, sensei, you're making me worry."

The author crunched out his cigarette. "Just leave me alone."

"I'm not leaving you like this," said Aikawa-san firmly, "At least, not until you tell me why you're acting this way."

As she moved closer, Akihiko grabbed the covers and rolled to the edge of the mattress with his back to her, cocooning himself. Behind him, he heard his editor sigh heavily.

"Obviously I can't change your mind by myself." The sound of heels-against-floorboard travelled towards the door. "Where's Misaki-kun?"

Something stung Akihiko. Screwing his eyes shut, he pulled the sheets more tightly around himself. _Go away, Aikawa-san…_

"Hello?" A nudge. "Sensei, where is Misaki-kun?"

His rough response was muffled by the comforter. "Gone."

"Well, when is he coming back?"

"He's not." he said through gritted teeth. Was Aikawa-san really so dense that she hadn't figured things out?

Apparently so; she sounded puzzled. "What do you…?" Suddenly, she inhaled sharply. " _Oh_. Oh, sensei…"

Akihiko could hear the dismay in her voice. The mattress dipped as she sat down beside him, and she stayed there for a good few minutes before finding her voice again.

"… I'm sorry. What happened?"

Still buried in the bedcovers, he let out a long, smoky breath. "I fucked up."

"Yes, I guessed that," she said, but not unkindly, "But what did you do?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he mumbled into his pillow. The author's temples were throbbing, his mouth sticky and his joints stiff, and he just wanted the woman on his bed to leave so he could go back to sleep and forget about everything- So he could dream about Misaki again…

"Come on, sensei, sit up," said Aikawa-san, tugging gently at him, "Telling someone might make you feel better."

Neither of them moved.

"I'm not leaving until you talk to me."

For a while, all was quiet in the gloomy bedroom. Just when Aikawa-san seemed about to stand up, however, the author finally stirred. He pushed himself up on his arms, wincing at the ache in his muscles. Aikawa-san waited.

"Fine," he muttered. What did he have to lose? At least if he told Aikawa-san she might finally leave him in peace.

Besides that, he couldn't hide from reality forever.

* * *

"… By the time I remembered, he'd already packed his bags and left."

The author was now sitting on top of the bedclothes, knees half-bent, propped up against the headboard with a cigarette in hand. His editor perched on the edge of the mattress beside him, a mixture of shock, sadness and vague annoyance on her made-up face.

"Well, I can't say I blame him, you absolute idiot…" she murmured, smoothing down her skirt (pink, like everything else today), "Did you explain to him that it was an accident?"

"Yes."

"And he wouldn't forgive you?" She looked surprised. "That doesn't sound like Misaki-kun."

Akihiko sighed. "He almost made up with me. But then…"

"But then, what?"

Here came the part he was dreading. Ashamed before he'd even started speaking, he covered his face with his free hand. "Well, then he found out. About… me and Hiroki."

One perfectly shaped eyebrow lifted. "Your childhood friend? What does he have to do with this?"

Inwardly, Akihiko groaned. Although it had been Hiroki's idea and not his, Akihiko always felt guilty about what they'd done together. The memory he was being forced to recount was one he'd been trying to forget for years.

"I hooked up with him when I was hung up on Takahiro," he said bluntly, getting it over with in one sentence. He peered through his fingers to see Aikawa-san looking perplexed. "Remember, I wrote about it in one of the early _Junai_ novels?"

With no one to talk to about how deeply he regretted it, 'Akikawa Yayoi' had written about it instead. Expressing himself via his stories was usually how Akihiko best dealt with things (plus, it had made a great plot twist for his then-new BL series), and since Misaki avoided reading _Junai Romantica_ , he'd never worried about anyone finding out.

Now that Misaki had, though, not even writing could make Akihiko feel better.

The memory dawned on Aikawa-san. "Ah…"

Resting her chin on her fists, she shook her head slowly, staring at nothing in particular.

"Gosh, I can't believe it," she said sadly, "The two of you were just so… so in love, I never would have thought you'd ever split up."

That familiar ache returned to Akihiko's chest. "Neither would I…"

"How did Misaki even find out?" she asked, confused, "He hates those _Junai Romantica_ novels."

"Ijuuin told him," Akihiko said, spitting the name out like it was poisonous, "That piece of-"

"How did _he_ find out?" she interrupted. Slumping against the headboard, he threw up his hands.

"I have no idea. The only ones who could know are you, me, Hiroki- Wait, _you_ didn't tell him, did you?" he asked, sitting abruptly upright and eyeing his editor.

She gave him a withering look. "No, sensei, of course not."

"Are you sure?"

" _Yes_. Ijuuin-sensei probably read the book and figured it out for himself," she said. Akihiko frowned.

"But why would he be reading _Junai_? He doesn't know my pen name." Only Aikawa-san and Isaka-san knew that (besides Misaki, of course), and they'd all agreed when Akihiko started working for Marukawa that they wouldn't tell anyone.

Beside him, Aikawa-san simply shrugged. "Maybe he likes BL."

But Akihiko shook his head. Thought he hated to admit it, Kyo Ijuuin was a man of good taste. Unless he knew the Akihiko's pen name, he was sure he wouldn't have any reason to read something as shamelessly smutty and full of fan service as _Junai_ ; the fanbase consisted almost entirely of teenaged girls, for God's sake. And besides, something about the whole encounter with Ijuuin seemed… off.

"No…" he said slowly, "However he found out, it wasn't an accident. He was purposely digging up dirt on me so he could take Misaki away from me. I know it."

He could see it in the mangaka's face; the very recollection of it sent a surge of anger through Akihiko. How in the hell did he find out? Did someone tell him? If they had, Akihiko was going to strangle them, whoever they were.

A heavy sigh escaped the editor. "I'm sorry, sensei. I know you loved Misaki-kun very, very much, but…" she looked doubtful, "Are you really giving up on writing because of this?"

"Yes." Before she could open her mouth, he added, "And I don't care what Isaka-san or anyone else says. I'm not writing anymore and that's final."

As he spoke, he folded his arms as if to underline the point. Aikawa-san hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. "But, sensei… Your new book…"

He huffed. "Again with the book!"

"There's only one more chapter to go!" she whined, and it was like a knife to Akihiko's eardrums, "And if you get writing again, it might make you feel better! Please, sensei," she begged, clasping her hands together.

"Aikawa-san…" he closed his eyes, "My one and only happiness is gone and my world is crumbling around me. That godforsaken manuscript is the last thing on my mind, okay?"

No, it was not okay. Frowning, the editor leapt to her feet, towering over Akihiko.

"This isn't just about you, Usami-sensei!"

Akihiko froze, cigarette halfway to his lips. Even Aikawa-san herself looked surprised at her own words; her face softened, and she knelt down beside the bed. Five shiny, pink fingernails appeared on his arm.

"Look," she said quietly, so close he could smell her fragrant perfume, "I'm sorry about Misaki-kun- I really am- and I don't want to push you when you're feeling this way, but…"

She stopped for a moment, struggling to find her words. Her hand rubbed Akihiko's arm in way that he supposed was meant to be comforting.

"You can't just abandon your work like this," she said eventually, "You might not feel up to writing at the moment, but you're still Marukawa's top author. You won the International Prize for Literary Artistry! If you quit writing, the company will lose money, and-"

"I don't give a shit about the company," he cut in.

"Well, what about all of your fans?" his editor reminded him, "They're all waiting to read your newest masterpiece. Are you going to disappoint them?"

 _It's not about them_ , he thought, pouting. It had never been about his readers; stories were Akihiko's way of losing himself, of giving life to his fantasies, of making sense of the thoughts and feelings that so often troubled him. Writing couldn't help him now, not now that his dear Misaki was gone. Now, it was nothing but a chore.

When he didn't answer, Aikawa-san went on. "And it's not just Akihiko Usami's fans- Akikawa Yayoi's readers will start rioting if you deprive them of their favourite Boy Love series," she joked feebly. Akihiko laughed without humour.

"If you think I'm _ever_ writing another _Junai Romantica_ , you're out of your mind."

Patting his arm, she nodded. "I understand that. But sensei, this new book of yours-"

"Would you forget the goddamn book?!" he yelled, shaking her off, "It doesn't matter. Nothing matters."

"Well, it matters to other people! It matters to me!" Agitated, she grabbed the sides of his head and forced him to look at her. "And _you_ matter to me, Usami-sensei!"

However close her face was, Akihiko refused to look her in the eyes. Scowling, he looked away- or rather, he tried to, but Aikawa-san's grip was firm.

"It's true," she said earnestly, "I'm not just your editor, sensei, I'm your friend. Let me help you get through this."

"I don't want your help."

Her shoulder's sagged. "See, this is the problem with you. You can't just shut everybody out like this."

"You don't understand..." He wished she'd let go. Her hands were warm against his cheeks, reminding him all too much of Misaki's…

"Yes, I do," she was saying, "I do understand. I know how hard breakups can be-"

"You don't know _anything_ about me! All you care about is my fucking manuscript!"

Startled, she dropped her hands and took a step backwards. Akihiko hurled his cigarette into the ashtray and started climbing back underneath the bedclothes. His head felt like it was going to explode.

"You'll never know how I feel," he said, burying himself, "Stop wasting my time and get out of my house already."

Though she didn't try to stop him, she didn't leave, either. He cracked an eye open. A grey haze was hanging over the room from Akihiko's chain smoking, so he couldn't quite see Aikawa-san clearly, but the sorrowful expression on her face was unmistakable. The author swallowed.

"I guess I can't convince you right now." Crouching down, she gathered up her spilled make-up and dropped it back into her handbag. Just before she reached the door, she turned around to face Akihiko again.

"I'm not going to let you just rot away here, sensei- I'll be back. I'll get you an extension on your deadline, and… if I see Misaki-kun, I'll talk to him."

"Don't bother," he said tiredly, "It won't do any good."

"Well, you never know," she said. The look she gave him was pitiful, almost pleading. "You have to at least try, sensei."

Without another word, she left. Akihiko waited until he heard the front door shut before releasing his breath and rolling over. When he did so, however, he was met with two beady, black eyes staring reproachfully down at him.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," he said, pressing his face into the bear's soft, golden fur.

He was an ass- Akihiko knew that. Aikawa-san was just trying to help him, and he'd snubbed her. It wouldn't be the first time, either, he acknowledged as he lay in the dark; for years now, Aikawa-san had been running around after him, chasing him for his manuscripts, nagging him to work properly and attend all of those mind-numbing, important events… Once, she even had to drive him to the emergency room when he passed out in his office for the umpteenth time. And yet, even after the way he always treated her, she'd stuck by him, constantly cleaning up his mess.

 _Now, she comes to help me when I'm at my worst, and this is how I thank her. She must think I hate her._

Guilt started to stir in the author's stomach, and he clenched his teeth. It wasn't his fault; she shouldn't have tried to make him write when he clearly couldn't.

Well, alright. He _could_ , if he really wanted to, but… What was the point?

Without Misaki, what was the point of doing anything?

Heaving a sigh, he gripped Suzuki-san tighter. Beneath the tobacco and body soap, he still smelled faintly of Misaki. It made Akihiko's eyes water.

 _I don't deserve him. Or Aikawa-san and her kindness. I don't deserve anyone._

Aikawa-san was right, just like always. Akihiko was behaving like an idiot. Nothing would get better this way; he couldn't escape his problems by simply shutting out the world.

But he could try.

Burrowing back under the comforter, he curled himself around Suzuki-san. His soft, furry form didn't even begin to compare to that of Misaki, but from now on, it would have to do. Miserably, Akihiko nuzzled deeper into the bear, hoping that those last traces of his beloved's scent would help bring on another sweet dream where he could seek refuge for a little while longer.

* * *

 **I do hope that was worth the wait. As always, thank you very much for reading and please review!**

 **So, this is how I imagined Usagi-san would cope with the breakup, but what will Misaki do next? Find out next time :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hi everyone! Think this is my longest chapter yet...**

 **First of all, I'd like to say I'm sorry that updates haven't been as frequent as they used to be. I'm writing as quickly as I can, but I'm getting a lot of school work to do now and I have to make that a priority (plus I like to take my time with these chapters to make them as good as I can). I do hope you guys understand if a chapter takes a while to be posted. DX**

 **Also, this is another chapter that's a bit sad. I SAID there'd be a lot of drama, okay? XD It will get happier towards the end, but I'm trying to make this fic like the actual show, which means there's a lot of tension to get through first!**

 **Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy. :)**

* * *

"So, my friend tells me you found a new apartment?"

Ijuuin stood beside the photocopier, coffee cup in hand, as he and the younger man chatted. He'd brought a cup for Misaki too, which was nice of him.

"Oh, yeah," he answered, taking a sip. He was vaguely aware of Shizuku, standing a few feet away and glaring daggers at Misaki, but he chose to ignore him. "Tell him thanks again for me if you see him, would you?"

Ijuuin nodded. "Certainly. I can help you move your stuff in, if you like," he added, tilting his head.

"Ah, you don't have to do that…"

"It's no trouble, Takahashi-kun."

"Really, it's fine," said Misaki, holding up his hands. The new apartment was quite a trek from Ijuuin's place; it wouldn't do to cause him trouble. "Todo already offered to help me, anyway."

"If you insist." Without saying anything more, Ijuuin took a long swig of coffee. The photocopier beeped. Misaki turned around, intending to grab the stack of paper that was waiting for him, when Ijuuin suddenly began: "I was wondering something."

"Hm?" Misaki glanced behind him, "What's that?"

Around them, employees wandered about the office (which was surprisingly peaceful today) and went about doing their various tasks. Misaki and the mangaka were the only still people in the room- them and Shizuku, from whom Misaki was detecting increasingly irritated vibes.

Hesitating, Ijuuin took a deep breath and crossed his arms. "Well… now that you and Usami are broken up…"

A wave of gloominess washed over Misaki. "Uh-huh," he said, taking another gulp from his paper cup.

"Would you consider going out with me?"

The young man spluttered into his coffee. "Wh-what?"

At Ijuuin's question, Misaki saw Shizuku jerk out of the corner of his eye. Swallowing, he turned back to Ijuuin, who was regarding him with a raised brow.

"Why do you look so surprised?"

"W-well, I…" he stammered. Ijuuin smiled softly, looking almost… nervous?

"I already told you how I feel about you." He'd been looking away, but now his blue eyes found Misaki's, filled with anticipation. "Now that there's nothing stopping you, I was hoping you could give me a chance."

His voice was oddly quiet. Behind them, Misaki could have sworn he heard Shizuku let out a hiss. Ijuuin didn't seem to notice- indeed, he appeared to have forgotten his editor was even present. His gaze was locked on Misaki.

Heavily, the boy sighed. "U-um, sensei…" he said, "don't you think it's a little too soon for that?"

Broad shoulders shrugged as Ijuuin stuck his hands into his pockets. "Not really. I know how I feel about you." When Misaki looked away, he could hear the stain of disappointment in the mangaka's voice as he spoke again. "But I can see you have yet to make a decision."

"I'm sorry, sensei," he mumbled, still unable to meet his eyes, "It's just… I'm still kind of…"

It was just… too soon. Misaki's wounds were still too fresh, too raw. Despite his resolve to move on, forgetting about _him_ would be no easy feat; his heart needed time to heal, and until it did, Misaki simply couldn't imagine opening it to someone else.

"I'm just not ready," he exhaled finally.

Ijuuin smiled. "I understand."

It was a small, sad smile, and Misaki's stomach twisted guiltily. "But, I still really want us to be friends! If that's okay with you."

The smile on Ijuuin's face widened, displaying those perfect teeth. "Of course. I'll always be here for you- as a friend."

Something inside Misaki fluttered. They smiled at one another, and he was about to reply when somebody poked his head around one of many dividers.

"Hey, Takahashi." He was one of Misaki's co-workers, though he couldn't recall the man's name, "Sorry to interrupt, but there's someone waiting for you in the break room."

"There is?" Who could that be? Draining his coffee cup, Misaki started towards the exit. "Excuse me, sensei."

Smiling, Ijuuin headed back towards Shizuku (still scowling) and waved. "See you."

Other employees who were vaguely familiar to Misaki smiled at him as they passed. He returned each one with a cheery, pretend grin of his own as he made his way briskly through the corridors that were becoming so familiar to him. Who had come to visit him at work, and why? Though he tried to keep calm, his heartrate started to quicken along with his footsteps.

 _What if it's Usagi-san?_ If he'd come here to grovel for forgiveness, Misaki thought his head might explode…

However, there turned out to be not one, but two people who rose to greet him when he entered the break room. Neither of them were Usagi-san.

"Nii-chan, Nee-chan," Misaki's eyebrows lifted as he crossed the small, scruffy room to the furthest table, "What are you doing here?"

His brother and sister-in-law had been sitting in the corner, with soda cans (probably purchased from the battered old vending machines) on the table in front of them, but hardly touched. When Misaki reached them, he was surprised to see them both looking anxiously at him.

"We didn't know where else to find you," Takahiro told him, nearing his brother. He was still in his work clothes, though he'd removed his suit jacket and loosened his tie. "Misaki, we've been trying to get in touch with you for days!"

Misaki's stomach clenched. "Y-you have?"

Joining her husband, Manami gave a worried nod. "We tried calling the condo, and you and Usami-sensei, but you both had your phones switched off," she said, "No-one answered the door when we tried to visit, either."

 _Crap._

After the disastrous attempt to make up with Usagi-san, followed by Sumi's constant pestering, Misaki had been so desperate for some peace while he recovered from his heartbreak that he'd opted to just switch his phone off entirely. It hadn't even occurred to him that Takahiro or Manami might try and call.

"Oh, shoot…" he muttered, clapping a hand to his forehead, "I'm so sorry, you guys. You see, I was staying with a friend, and… the signal at his place is really awful, and, uh…" He faltered, trying hastily to think of a plausible excuse. _Way to go, Misaki_ , he scolded himself, _You made Nii-chan worry._

Said man was frowning down at his brother. "Hold on. How come you were at your friend's for the whole week and not Usagi's place?"

"Oh, right…" Great. Just great. He loosed a breath. "Well, the thing is, I don't actually live with him anymore…"

Both spouses looked surprised at that (Manami more so). "You've moved out?" his sister-in-law asked.

Nodding, Misaki silently prayed that they could leave it at that, no questions asked. Unfortunately for the younger brother, though, Takahiro didn't seem content to drop the subject just yet.

"Huh…" he shrugged, "Well, that's fine, I guess, it just seems a little… unexpected. I thought you were going to stay with Usagi until you graduated," said Takahiro, oblivious to Misaki's growing discomfort.

"Well, um…" How did he explain this?

Takahiro stood waiting for an answer. However, Manami wasn't quite as unperceptive as her husband. "You guys aren't fighting, are you?"

"S-sort of…"

Brow clearing, the elder Takahashi brother folded his arms. "So _that's_ what this is about. What happened?"

Misaki scuffed his feet against the grimy floor. "I don't really wanna talk about it." Please _just go home, Nii-chan…_

"Oh, come on," Takahiro pushed, "You know if you don't tell me, Usagi will."

Somehow, Misaki doubted that very much indeed.

"There's nothing to tell. We fell out, so I left. Simple as." Well, it wasn't a lie. Nevertheless, Misaki hoped his air-headed brother would swallow his half-truth without prying for any more details.

Behind his glasses, Takahiro eyed Misaki with a mixture of concern and mild disapproval. "What, you just took off? No goodbye? Not even a thank you?" he demanded.

The younger brother bristled. "Why should I have thanked him? He's an ass!"

Perhaps if Misaki had a chance to rephrase that, he'd have used a slightly nicer word. Manami lifted a hand to her open mouth, while Takahiro looked downright shocked.

"No he's not!" he said, "He's my best friend, and he's your friend too."

Misaki looked at his feet. "No, he isn't…" he mumbled.

"Why don't we sit down?" said Manami, and they shuffled along the benches, Takahiro and his wife opposite their younger brother. As he folded his hands on the table, Takahiro looked almost disappointed.

"Misaki, I'm surprised at you." The boy cringed. "I mean, obviously you were going to move out anyway, but… After all Usagi's done for us, you storm out after a petty squabble? Isn't that a little ungrateful?"

Even though Misaki knew the truth of the matter, his brother still managed to make him feel guilty, somehow. He avoided Takahiro's eyes. "It wasn't a petty squabble."

"Well, I'm sure whatever it was, it's nothing you two can't work through," said Takahiro with a sigh, "Even if you don't want to live with Usagi anymore, you shouldn't just cut him out of your life. It would be such a shame if your friendship were to fall apart."

There was a sorrowful tint to Takahiro's violet eyes as he spoke. Misaki bit his lip. "You think?"

Smiling, the older brother nodded. "Absolutely," he said, "The pair of you built up such a strong bond- heck, sometimes I'd even get jealous of you guys!"

"Eh?" Misaki raised his eyebrows, "Really, Nii-chan?"

Takahiro stared into space, resting his head on his hand. "Of course. You're my little brother, and Usagi has been my best friend for over a decade." His gaze returned to Misaki, "And yet, when I look at you guys- the way you act around each other, the way you talk, even when you argue- it kind of seems like you know each other better than I do."

A laugh escaped Takahiro, and his wife echoed him, but Misaki was silent. Takahiro noticed this (for once), and reached across the table to pat the younger's arm.

"You two had a wonderful relationship, Misaki," he said gently. If he saw the tears that this brought to his brother's green eyes, he didn't realise their true meaning, because he went on, "You were friends, teachers, almost brothers… You don't really want to give that up, do you?"

"I…" Misaki's eyes were stinging. _You've got it all wrong, Nii-chan… You don't understand…_

"Come on, why not just let bygones be bygones?" His brother's happy tone sent another stab through Misaki's torso. "I bet if you just talk to Usagi, he'll be more than happy to make friends again."

White-knuckled hands tensed even further in Misaki's lap. He couldn't look at Takahiro. He was so wrong… Usagi-san could never ben his friend again, never be his…

"Oh, Taka-chan…"

Both brothers turned in the direction of the heavy sigh. Manami was shaking her head at her husband, a pained expression on her face. "Can't you see you're upsetting him?"

Takahiro blinked behind his glasses. "What? But I…"

"Nee-chan?" said Misaki, looking to his sister-in-law with surprise.

Across the table, Manami's slim shoulders rose and fell. She looked down at her unopened soda can for a second, as if debating whether or not to continue. But she reached for Misaki's hands and held them, kind, hazel eyes level with his.

"Misaki-kun," she said, using the same tender, motherly tone she used with Mahiro, "you and Usami-sensei are dating, aren't you?"

Misaki almost crushed his Nee-chan's hands. Every muscle in his body seized- except for his jaw, which slackened as he stared at Manami in shock.

 _She… In front of Nii-chan…_

Panicking, he whipped his head to his brother, who was in turn looking at his wife as though she'd spoken an alien language.

" _What?"_

A bead of sweat formed on Misaki's brow. How did she _know_? He and Usagi-san had always been so careful…

 _Dammit… I didn't want Nii-chan to find out like this…_ "N-Nee-chan, h-how did you…?"

Manami just smiled. "So, it's true then?"

"Of course they're not _dating_ ," Takahiro interrupted, looking almost as unsettled as his brother. He laughed nervously. "Right, Misaki?"

"Well, yeah… of course not…"

However, when Manami gave him a doubtful look, Misaki knew it was better to just come clean (he didn't have much of a choice, anyhow). So, he swallowed away the dryness in his throat and continued, "We aren't dating… anymore."

Takahiro turned as white as a ghost. " _Anymore_?" he repeated once he'd found his voice.

Ignoring her husband, Manami spoke again before Misaki had to. "You guys broke up? I'm so sorry," she said, squeezing Misaki's hands, "What happened?"

Misaki was about to reply, when Takahiro stood up, holding up his hands as if in surrender.

"Woah, woah, _woah_ ," he said. Wife and brother quietened, and Takahiro looked from one to the other, eyebrows knitting together in confusion or irritation or both. "What do you mean 'anymore', Misaki? How could you have broken up with _Usagi_? He wasn't your… You guys were just roommates, weren't you?" No answer. "Weren't you?!"

Misaki winced at his brother's tone. Neither he nor Manami could bring themselves to look Takahiro in the eye as he stood there expectantly, mouth still hanging wide open. When no-one spoke, he grabbed a handful of black hair in agitation.

"Okay, Misaki- what the hell has been going between you and him?" Manami and Misaki hesitated. "… Does _anyone_ feel like telling me?!"

"Calm down, Taka-chan," Manami said, letting go of Misaki's hands, "Isn't it obvious?"

"But, I don't understand…" Frantically, the older man turned back to his brother, "Misaki, when you say 'anymore', do you mean that you and Usagi were actually…?"

 _Here we go…_ "Y-yes."

"Like, in a… in a romantic way?" It was said as though Takahiro could barely process the thought.

"Yes," he said again, speaking barely above a mumble.

The break room was starting to feel very stuffy. Takahiro looked thoroughly disturbed as he slowly asked, "Did you guys…?"

This time, Misaki found he couldn't even answer. A heavy silence hung over the breakroom as Takahiro's features contorted with disgust.

"Oh, my _God_!"

Hastily, Manami got to her feet. "Takahiro-"

"What in the…? Why am I only just hearing about this _now_?" he cried, "And Manami, how come you knew about it and not me?"

"Oh, come on," she answered, "You could see it from space."

"You could?" said Misaki under his breath.

"I just can't…" Pushing up his glasses with two fingers, Takahiro rubbed his eyes. "Misaki, how long has this been going on for?"

"Uh…" Takahiro waited. "Since I moved in…"

Violet eyes grew as round as saucers, and Manami bit down on a glossed lip as her husband braced his hands on the table in front of Misaki. "Start explaining. Right now."

Misaki's insides were tangling themselves together. It was so unfair; this was the moment he'd been dreading for three-and-a-half years and it had just been dropped on him, completely unexpected. Not only that, but so far, Takahiro's reaction was just as he'd feared- worse, even. How could he explain himself without making his brother even angrier?

 _I just lost Usagi-san, but if I lose Nii-chan, too…_

"I don't know!" He rubbed the back of his head, "It just, sorta… happened, I guess." His voice grew smaller and smaller, shrinking under Takahiro's incredulous stare.

"And, what, you were just going to hide it from me forever?"

"No!" said Misaki quickly, "I mean, I was going to tell you eventually, I just… didn't want you to be upset."

Takahiro barked a laugh. "You thought _that_ wouldn't upset me? Misaki, Usagi is my best friend! He's ten years older than you! And- and he's a _guy_!"

"Takahiro!" Manami scolded, shocked, "How could you be so intolerant?"

However, this came as no surprise to Misaki; he had always known about Takahiro's attitude towards this sort of thing. The elder Takahashi brother had been raised as a traditionalist, and had thus raised Misaki in the same way- or tried to. Coming to terms with the fact that he was attracted to another member of the same sex had been difficult for Misaki, but he knew it would be even harder for Takahiro, the man who had brought his brother up telling him such things were 'unnatural'.

Even so, Misaki had never really agreed with his brother (no matter what he'd tried to tell himself), and since he'd never actually seen Takahiro openly discriminate against anyone, he'd clung to a tiny hope that, after seeing his best friend and brother for who they really were, Takahiro would accept them.

But now that hope was dwindling by the second. "S-so what?"

"So what? Misaki, you know that kind of relationship isn't normal!" said Takahiro, as expected. He began to pace up and down in front of the table, flickering between rage and despair. "Ugh, I just cannot _believe_ … _That's_ why you were both so reluctant to stop living together. _That's_ why you spent such a weird amount of time together. _That's_ why neither of you were interested in finding girlfriends. I was _worried_ about the two of you, and you were doing… _that_ behind my back!" he shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Misaki, who ducked his head.

"Nii-chan… I'm s-sorry…"

"You think sorry's going to cut it now? Misaki, did you seriously think it was okay to keep this a secret?"

 _That's exactly what I said to Usagi-san…_ "N-no…"

"Then, why didn't you tell me?!"

"Because I was afraid that just this would happen!" said Misaki, slamming his fists against the table. "I knew you'd freak out if I told you I was with him, or that I like guys, so I-"

"Misaki, you do _not_ like men," he said sternly, in the same voice he used to tell Misaki off when he was little, "You're just… confused."

For all the guilt that was rampaging inside him, this last statement annoyed Misaki. "No, I'm not. Y-you just don't want to accept me for who I am," he said, daring to look Takahiro in the face.

"This _isn't_ who you are!" his brother hissed, glaring, "Getting involved with older guys… Do you think this is what mom and dad would have wanted?"

Misaki froze.

 _Mom and dad…_

"Takahiro!" Manami grabbed her husband's arm, "Leave him alone! Misaki-kun hasn't done anything wrong- and he's your brother, for God's sake."

Scowling, Takahiro yanked out of her grip. "Oh, now you're on his side, too?"

"You're overreacting-"

"I'm not overreacting! Have you forgotten that Usagi is _thirty-two and a man_?"

Misaki cringed. People were starting to glance uncertainly inside the room as they passed.

"Well, who cares, as long as they were both happy?" Manami was saying, "Anyone with eyes could see how much they loved each other."

Takahiro snorted. "It's not _love_ , Manami, it's plain wrong!" He shook his head, "My _best friend_ and my _brother_ -"

"What does it even matter now? Misaki already told you they aren't together anymore."

"Oh, so that makes nearly four years' worth of lying to me all okay?"

Husband and wife were standing toe-to-toe now. The usually patient Manami was turning red in the face, and Misaki had scarcely seen his brother look so angry.

 _Please don't fight…_

Manami's mouth became a thin line. "Well, if this is how you're going to behave, I'm not surprised he didn't want to tell you!"

"Why didn't _you_ tell me, if you knew all along?"

"It wasn't for me to say," she snapped, "And besides, it's not my fault you were too slow to work things out for yourself!"

Grinding his teeth, Takahiro clenched his fists and turned away. "You know what? This is all that Usagi's fault."

Misaki's blood ran cold.

"I swear, when I get my hands on him-"

"No!" The younger brother blurted, surprising himself. Takahiro raised an eyebrow at him, and he faltered. "I-it's not his fault… Be furious with me if you want, but leave him out of it."

 _Um_ , said the voice in his head, _why are you sticking up for shitty Usagi, now?_

Whether it was Misaki's broken voice or his undoubtedly despondent expression, some of Takahiro's anger seemed to dissipate as he looked at his brother. Only some of it, though- the confusion, the hurt and the disappointment were all still present in Takahiro's pained eyes, burning a hole through his younger brother.

"Misaki, I just…" Several times he tried to speak, but in the end, Takahiro simply clasped his forehead with one hand and said, "I can't deal with this right now."

With one last, cold look at Misaki, he spun on his heel and hurried out of the break room, not waiting for his wife or even answering her as she called his name. Sighing, Manami watched him leave before returning to the table where Misaki was sitting with his head down. His hands were clasped tightly together in his lap, and his shoulders were shaking.

"Misaki-kun, I'm sorry," she said, wrapping a consoling arm around him.

The boy sniffed. "I just didn't want him to hate me…"

If he'd felt terrible on the night of the breakup, that was nothing compared to how Misaki was feeling now- now that he'd turned his beloved Nii-chan against him. And _I made him fight with Nee-chan._ He trembled in the cold, hard seat, drawing little comfort from the warmth of his sister-in-law beside him.

"He doesn't hate you- he'd never hate you," Manami assured him, rubbing the boy's shoulder, "I think this was just… a bit of a shock to him, that's all. Once he's calmed down, I'm sure you two can work things out."

Unsure of what to say, Misaki just made an 'mm' sound and fell silent. In his mind's eye, he replayed the entire conversation with his brother.

 _Did you seriously think it was okay to keep this a secret?_

"… If you're thinking that Taka-chan doesn't accept you, that's not it. I know he can be kind of ignorant sometimes, but he's not really that narrow-minded. I think he's just upset that you didn't tell him, and because Usami-sensei is his friend and you're his little brother, he just feels like…"

 _I'm an awful person_ , he thought to himself, tuning out Manami's kind words. For days and days, he'd been feeling sorry for himself, furious with Usagi-san for all his lying and keeping secrets- When all this time, he'd been doing the exact same thing to Takahiro. In fact, his brother must have felt just like Misaki did when he learned the truth about Usagi-san… The idea made Misaki's throat constrict painfully. He hadn't felt so guilty since-

No. On top of everything else, he couldn't handle those memories right now.

A large, grey cloud loomed into view outside the window, blocking out the sun and making the near-deserted break room feel even gloomier. Even though Manami was watching and he didn't want to worry her, Misaki dabbed at his eyes, which were precariously wet. All he could see was he brother's face before he left.

Misaki knew that face; Takahiro seldom used it, save for the times he was angriest, like when his relatives were arguing over who had custody over Misaki, or when Misaki had come home from school with a black eye and a bloody nose thanks to some bullies. He'd seen Takahiro make that face a handful of times- but never, ever had it been directed at Misaki himself.

 _Nii-chan… Please forgive me._

* * *

 **There are lots of different ideas about how Takahiro would react if he found out about Misaki and Usagi-san, but since Misaki spends most of the anime harping on about how 'it's weird for a guy to be with another guy', it's my personal view that Takahiro raised him to think like this. Hence, his reaction in this chapter. As for whether or not he'll forgive Misaki, you'll have to wait and see ;)**

 **And to my fellow Romantica fans, I truly am sorry for being so mean to them both, but the whole point of this story is that all the characters make mistakes and learn from them. Only then will Misaki and Usagi-san have any chance of getting back together- otherwise, the story would just be rushed. So, to those of you who've been kind enough to stick with the story, please be patient :) I'm not happy about it either, but unfortunately, this fic is _not_ a fluff-fest...**

 **... Which is why I was thinking of starting another fic on the side of this one, which would basically be a collection of cute Romantica oneshots for me to add to whenever I have an idea for one. That way, I'd have an excuse to write some fluff without shoehorning it into this fic, and I'd get to write something nice for you guys after dumping all of this sadness and drama on you XD Thoughts?**

 **As always, thank you so much for reading my story, and please let me know what you think. Favourites, follows and reviews of any kind are very much appreciated!**

 **Until next chapter, guys :)**


	12. Chapter 12

**Yay, double update! The chapter got too long, so I've split it into a short one and a fairly long one. I do hope they're worth the wait.**

* * *

"… Nearly four years, the two of you hid this from me- _four years_! How could you? I can't believe either of you would betray me like this…"

Dressed in the same clothes he'd been wearing two days ago, Akihiko sat meekly on the disarrayed couch, listening to his friend rant at him. Takahiro had stormed in about twenty minutes ago, and even before he began laying into Akihiko, the author had guessed what had happened- though, he wasn't exactly sure how.

 _I wonder if Ijuuin told him, just to spite me,_ he thought to himself, accepting every insult, every accusation and every vulgar name Takahiro was currently hurling at him.

"… I mean, what were you even _thinking_ , for God's sake? Misaki is only just twenty-two, you… you, perverted old man!"

Akihiko winced. Though Misaki had often called him the same thing as a means of covering up his embarrassment, hearing it from Takahiro- whom he had no doubt meant every word he was saying- was more than a little hurtful.

He knew Takahiro so well… and yet, at the moment, he barely recognized this angry, hateful man in front of him.

"Takahiro, I-"

"Shut your mouth!" he spat, and Akihiko obeyed. "Do you have any idea what this is like for me? I _trusted_ you to take care of my little brother, and you, you _defiled_ him!"

The author took issue with the word 'defiled', but deemed it unwise to say so.

"How could you do this to me?" Takahiro asked, and the fury in his eyes gave way to hurt, "I thought you were my friend, Usagi."

An invisible fist punched Akihiko in the gut. "Takahiro," he said again, "I am truly sorry. I take full responsibility for this, and I… I don't blame you if you don't want to be friends anymore."

Even as he said this, a lump formed in Akihiko's throat. He might not have loved Takahiro in the same way he did his brother, but he still loved him nonetheless. To lose his friendship, as well as Misaki…

Looking away, Takahiro took off his glasses and polished them- possibly just an excuse to avoid eye contact. Akihiko swallowed.

"Understand, Takahiro, that I only did what I did because I loved Misaki-"

"Don't say that," said Takahiro sharply. Akihiko stopped, and he shuddered. "Don't talk about having those kinds of feelings for my brother. It makes the whole thing feel even creepier."

Inwardly, Akihiko sighed. He knew that Takahiro's anger was in no small part caused by the issue of him being older and of the same gender as Misaki. If the man could be faulted for anything, it was his close-mindedness when it came to such things.

"Nevertheless," he said, trying not to crumble beneath Takahiro's glower, "I loved him- very much- and since Misaki accepted my feelings, I made the decision to act on them."

For that, Akihiko was not going to apologise, though it only seemed to irritate Takahiro even further. He huffed.

"And, you didn't tell me because…?"

Uncomfortably, he shifted against the creased, pink cushions. "Because that was up to Misaki. Not me."

Unsurprisingly, Takahiro didn't seem too satisfied with this. He frowned down at his ex-best friend from where he stood above the couch; he hadn't sat down once since he came inside.

"Another thing, Usagi…" He took a deep breath, blowing it out through his nose. "I don't know what happened between you and Misaki, or why you broke up, but… I think you really hurt him."

Akihiko tensed.

"He wasn't himself the last time I saw him, even before the argument. What I want to know more than anything, Usagi, is…" Autumn sunlight glared off Takahiro's glasses as he stared the author down, "If you say you loved my brother so much, why would you cause him pain?"

 _Why, indeed…_ Closing his eyes, Akihiko rubbed a hand over his unshaven face. For a moment, he considered telling Takahiro everything: when all had seemed lost, how Misaki had saved him; when he'd been confused that night, what he'd done to drive the boy away; and, when Kyo Ijuuin had hammered that final nail into his coffin, the reason why Misaki's love for Akihiko had vanished completely.

But telling Takahiro that that would also mean telling him how Akihiko used to feel about him. And- though he hated to lie after all that had just happened- the author just couldn't do that. He couldn't risk telling his dear friend, whom he was already so close to losing, something that would undoubtedly turn Takahiro against him for good. There was a reason why Akihiko had chosen to hide his true feelings from his former crush: Takahiro would find them abhorrent.

So, he simply rested his elbow on the armrest, sighing into his pale hand.

"It's complicated."

A click of the tongue- that noise Takahiro always made when he was annoyed. "That's the best you can do?"

"There's no point in me telling you," he said, "You'll just tell me how disgusting and awful and idiotic I already know I am." Takahiro raised an eyebrow at that, but Akihiko remained deadly serious. "I feel awful enough already," he said quietly. Truthfully.

When Takahiro returned the author's gaze, there was no sympathy in it.

"Well, so you should," he said coldly, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but… I'm disgusted with you, Usagi."

Lavender eyes lowered.

"You completely abused my trust in you. You lied to me- you turned my own brother against me! Now, thanks to you, Misaki thinks he's…"

Trailing off, he glanced over at Akihiko, who was looking back up at his friend with a hardened stare.

"Thinks he's what?" he asked, knowing regardless what Takahiro was getting at. The bespectacled man faltered, and Akihiko stood to face him.

"Takahiro. I did lie to you, and I understand that you feel betrayed. I hurt your brother, and I accept your anger on his behalf- and I'm sorry." He took a deep breath. "But I'm not sorry that I fell in love with Misaki. And you shouldn't expect him to be sorry, either."

"Excuse me?!" Takahiro hissed, flushing, "After everything the two of you did to me, you're saying I don't deserve an apology?"

"I'm saying you shouldn't shame your brother for being himself."

Takahiro's nostrils flared, but Akihiko kept going. "You're perfectly entitled to be angry with me." Akihiko hated this- hated to widen the gap that had opened up between them even further- but this had to be said. "You don't ever have to speak to me again, if you don't want to- but don't jeopardise your relationship with Misaki just because he fell in love with a man."

There was a sharp intake of breath as Takahiro opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Akihiko burrowed into his eyes.

"You have the most wonderful brother you could ever ask for," he said, "Don't lose him."

 _Don't make the same mistake I did._

Violet fire flickered behind Takahiro's steamed-up glasses. Squaring his shoulders in his smart shirt, he stalked his way over to the door without another word.

A stone dropped on Akihiko's stomach. Not his best friend, too… "Takahiro-"

Before he could say anything more, however, Takahiro whipped his dark head around, glaring at the thirteen years of friendship behind him.

"Stay away from my brother and me."

* * *

 **Don't worry- the second half is happier, I promise! :)**


	13. Chapter 13

That was the last thing he said to Akihiko before slamming the apartment door. The author remained where he was in the living room, his gaze lingering on the spot where Takahiro had been. Up until right then, he hadn't thought it possible for his pain to worsen.

How wrong he'd been.

Grief weighing heavily upon his chest, Akihiko dropped like a rock onto the couch. Almost automatically, his fingers reached for the cigarette he'd been itching for since half an hour ago, when Takahiro came bursting in. The torrent of toxic air wasn't as relaxing as usual. His eyes fell to the floor, studying the hard, wooden planks that were growing grittier by the day.

It was so… strange, seeing Takahiro look at him that way. In the past few weeks, Akihiko had seen sides of the two brothers he loved so intensely that he'd never seen before. The Takahiro he knew so well- the one he'd confided in and comforted and trusted with his life- had seemed like an entirely different person just then.

And so, Akihiko realised, must he seem to Takahiro now. He let out a smoky sigh. The author hadn't wanted to lie to his friend. Nor had he wanted to make him even angrier with his previous words, but it had to be done- for Misaki's sake.

He lay back on the couch, leaning against Suzuki-san. As deeply as he cared for Takahiro, Akihiko would _not_ let him (or anybody else, for that matter) give Misaki any crap about his sexuality. Hell, the boy had been through enough already.

A thin plume of smoke drifted towards the ceiling as Akihiko lay.

 _And besides…_

For most of the author's life, he'd had to put up with it: the discrimination, the degradation, the homophobes flinging abuse and branding him as 'obscene' or 'unnatural' or 'an abomination'. Even getting his own father to accept him had been a challenge. Of course, by now Akihiko was so used to it that it didn't really bother him, but Misaki…

He'd seen him struggle to come to terms with his identity. All those times Akihiko had kissed him and made love to him, he'd seen the uncertainty and guilt dancing behind the desire in Misaki's eyes. And that was why Akihiko had promised himself that he would protect his love at all costs; that he would never let Misaki be subjected to the same treatment that he had been.

It had never occurred to him, however, that he might have to shield Misaki from his own brother.

If it had been anyone besides Takahiro who had been repulsed by his and Misaki's relationship, Akihiko would have simply laughed them off and labelled them as a bigoted jerk. But Takahiro wasn't like that- yes, he was a little old-fashioned in his views, but he loved his little brother to pieces. He must _still_ love him, despite Misaki's lying to him; surely, Takahiro would accept him?

Akihiko hoped so. After hurting his poor Misaki so much, he couldn't bear to see any more hardships befall the boy.

 _Even if you don't want me anymore… I'll still do whatever I can for you, Misaki._

He sat up, holding the cigarette between his teeth. The condo was a wreck. His once gleaming kitchen was grimy beneath piles of unwashed dishes and empty take-out containers. Dirty clothes lay, crumpled, wherever Akihiko had left them, some even hanging over the banisters or peeking through the railings of the second-floor landing. Surrounding the seating area in the living room were stacks upon stacks of books, in which Akihiko had been engrossing himself in an attempt to escape his worries.

However, as he stared around at his chaotic house- at the overflowing trash cans, the empty wine bottles, the abundance of cigarette stubs- Akihiko started to wonder if maybe he should do something about it, after all… But not now. He didn't feel like it.

Grabbing a book from one of the many towers (Yasunari Kawabata's _Thousand Cranes_ \- an old favourite of his), Akihiko delved into the yellowing pages, stirring up that mildewy, old paper smell. Since he couldn't write anymore, books had become the author's new refuge. Books and dreams. He began to read, losing himself in the rich, beautiful landscape the words painted for him. Each one was perfectly placed, each sentence masterfully crafted, and Akihiko was still for hours as he let them wash over him, soothing his pain, easing his troubles and-

The doorbell rang.

Akihiko growled, irritated at whoever it was for shattering his immersion. Sticking his nose back into the novel, he stayed quiet and hoped that the visitor would just leave, when there was another sharp ring of the bell, followed by a familiar voice crackling through the intercom.

"Oy, Bakahiko! You've got ten seconds to let me in before I kick down this door!"

Akihiko's eyes narrowed. Slowly, he rose from the warm couch and opened the door.

"Have you been talking to Kyo Ijuuin?" he said by way of greeting.

Wearing his signature scowl, Hiroki cocked an eyebrow at his friend. "Who, now?"

"Never mind."

It was a dumb question- Hiroki would never tell anyone about what they did nine years ago. He dragged his feet back over to the couch.

"What the hell, it's so _grey_ in here," Hiroki complained as he followed, waving away clouds of smoke (Akihiko had long since disabled the smoke detectors). "As if I don't get enough of this from sharing an office with Miyagi all day…"

Loosening his striped, navy-blue tie, the assistant professor plonked himself on the opposite side of the coffee table and looked the author up and down. "You look like shit, Akihiko," he said. Glancing around the room, he grimaced. "And so does your house."

"I know." He _felt_ like shit, too. Still, he was actually sort of glad to see Hiroki- even though, judging by his old friend's face, he was probably in for some kind of lecture.

He puffed on his cigarette. "So, what do you want?" he asked, playing dumb.

Without batting an eyelid at Akihiko's rudeness, Hiroki shrugged his shoulders. "Well, you haven't called or visited me in weeks, so I figured I should come by and make sure you were still alive."

Akihiko huffed a laugh. "Sorry, Hiroki. I'm not dead yet."

"Well, can you blame me for assuming? What with the smell in here," the professor answered, wrinkling his nose.

Shrugging, Akihiko closed his eyes and leaned back into the couch cushions. "Is that all?"

Hiroki was quiet for a second. At the sound of him sighing, however, Akihiko re-opened his eyes to see his childhood frowning at him. It was nothing unusual- it being Hiroki and all- but… there was something about his frown that was different than usual.

"I tried to find you at work the other day, and I ran into your editor."

The cigarette paused halfway to his lips. "And?"

"She said…" Doubtfully, Hiroki tilted his head. "She said you're going through a break-up?"

 _Damn that Aikawa-san…_ Irritated, Akihiko discarded the remains of his cigarette (adding to the miniature mountain inside the ashtray), grabbed another smoke and flicked open his lighter. "That woman needs to learn to mind her own business…" he muttered.

"Never mind that," said Hiroki, who was leaning forwards on the edge of the couch. "Akihiko, does this mean you… you have a boyfriend?"

"Had," he corrected, already growing annoyed with his friend. Honestly, if one more person made him talk about Misaki…

Stern, rust-coloured eyes narrowed at the author. "Well, who the hell is it? You never said anything about it to me," said Hiroki indignantly; Akihiko usually told him everything.

"Does it matter anymore?" he half-growled, "Like I said, it's over and done with now."

Even as he spoke, he knew Hiroki well enough to know he wouldn't just let the subject drop. The professor's brow furrowed, and he looked almost disbelievingly at his friend. "… It's not that guy in my class, who I saw out with you a while ago, is it? The one you said was your flatmate?"

He didn't have the effort to lie, so Akihiko simply nodded, eyes downcast.

Hiroki's eyebrows shot up. "You were screwing around with a _student_?"

"I'd hardly call it 'screwing around'…"

"Fucking hell, Akihiko!" Hiroki exclaimed, "I mean, he must have been, what, eighteen…?"

"He's a _senior_."

"Well, still…" Pushing himself off the couch, Hiroki headed for the kitchen, kicking discarded clothes out of his path on the way. "Is that why you didn't tell me?" he called, opening the fridge. After seeing how bare the shelves were, he turned to the coffee machine instead.

Whirring noises and clinking crockery sounded out; the apartment was louder than it had been in days. Akihiko watched Hiroki rooting through what was left of his groceries, saw his expression as he surveyed the festering kitchen, and wondered what his friend must have thought of him at that moment.

"Partly." He replied as he linked his fingers together, resting his chin on them.

Hiroki sniffed at a carton of milk, retched, and dumped it in the trash can. "Why else?"

The rich, bittersweet aroma of roasted coffee beans cut through the staleness overhanging the room. It filled Akihiko's nose in a deep breath as Hiroki turned around, a tempered glass in each hand.

"He's Takahiro's brother."

Slowly- very slowly- Hiroki lowered the glasses to the kitchen countertop. His dark eyes had suddenly grown very wide.

"You're kidding."

When Akihiko remained straight-faced, Hiroki shook his auburn head in disbelief. "I _wondered_ why you suddenly stopped yakking on about him…" he said, carrying the black coffee to the couch. Akihiko took a sip (wincing at the bitterness) and Hiroki frowned at him. "Wait, so… you couldn't have Takahiro, so you just settled for his little brother?"

" _No!_ " Cigarette stubs leapt as Akihiko banged his glass down. Honest to God, why did _everyone_ immediately jump to that conclusion? "It wasn't like that. I loved him."

Sitting back, Hiroki swept his gaze around the entire room, and then back to Akihiko. "I guess you must have if you're falling apart like this over him."

 _I_ still _love him, actually._ In fact- despite the circumstances- Akihiko wasn't sure he could ever stop loving Misaki. Just as Hiroki had, he took in the ruins of his once pristine apartment. Was this how he was going to spend the rest of his life- miserable and missing Misaki while his house rotted around him? It certainly felt that way.

Though he was looking at the floor, he could feel Hiroki's eyes on him. There was a shuffling noise as he shifted in his seat.

"Akihiko…" he said, "Are you really giving up writing?"

"Don't you start with that, too."

Hiroki leaned forwards, bracing his elbows on his splayed thighs. "I just don't get it- Even way back when we were ten, you were always scribbling away in that notebook of yours." The professor angled his head. "You once told me you wouldn't give it up for the world."

Huffing, Akihiko shrugged and said, "Yeah, well. Times change."

"You're really going to stop doing what you love because of some brat?"

"He wasn't some brat," the author snapped. Before Hiroki could open his mouth, he added, "And if I don't want to write anymore, no-one can make me."

He took another horrible swig of coffee (he should really go and get some more milk…). For a long while, Hiroki sat silently across from him, not touching his own drink. Akihiko eyes him warily; his friend's eyes had that shadowy look in them, and that was never a good sign. He was gripping the knees of his smart trousers.

When Hiroki spoke, his voice was low and dark. "First Takahiro, now his brother. How dare someone hurt you like this…"

Uh-oh. "No, it wasn't his fault, Hiroki."

"Next time I see that kid at school, I'll-"

"You'll do nothing," said Akihiko firmly, "Nothing at all."

He would not allow Misaki any more trouble because of him.

Heavily, Hiroki sighed. He ran his fingers through his lengthening, cinnamon locks- like he always did when he was thinking.

"Akihiko, look," he said finally, "I get that it's really crappy and everything, but you can't let a breakup ruin your whole life. You've gotta move on."

"I don't _want_ to move on," Akihiko grumbled, and the glass burned his hand as he gripped it harder. "I… I feel like I'll never be happy again," he confessed.

With both Takahashi brothers against him, Hiroki was now the sole person Akihiko could share those kinds of thoughts with. The professor wouldn't meet his gaze; he'd turned his head to the side, his neck bent.

"Yeah, I know."

"You do?"

Usually harsh and unforgiving, the profile of Hiroki's face was softened with something Akihiko couldn't quite place. He hesitated, opening and closing his mouth a few times, but eventually began: "Remember how you were in love with Takahiro, and you were so devastated when you lost him to another person?"

Akihiko frowned. "Yes."

"Well… That happened to me, too."

Of all the things Hiroki could have said, the author wasn't expecting that. He sat up a little straighter. "Really?"

A nod. "Uh-huh. I spent years hiding my feelings from him. When he fell for someone else- when I knew I could never have him- I didn't think I could ever smile again, either."

Akihiko was silent, a little surprised by this rare display of emotion from his childhood friend. He brought a hand to his chin.

 _So, Hiroki lost his first love, too… Who would have thought?_

Guilt stirred in Akihiko's stomach. When exactly had Hiroki been hiding this unrequited love, and from whom? The professor and the author had been firm friends for twenty two years, after all. Usually, they could read each other as easily as the books they swapped- or, so Akihiko had thought. The idea of Hiroki suffering without his knowing didn't sit right with him.

 _And there I was, too busy pining for Takahiro to notice…_ Was that why Hiroki had suggested they be intimate all those years ago- not just to help Akihiko's loneliness, but his own, too?

"But," Hiroki continued, regaining the author's attention, "when I met Nowaki, I suddenly had a whole new love of my life."

Akihiko just grunted. Even if someone else were to show up, he didn't want anyone besides Misaki…

Hiroki sipped his coffee. "Then Nowaki left, and I was the same as you again- I didn't want to move on. I just wanted to live in the past with him." Not for the first time, Akihiko found himself impressed with how accurately Hiroki could describe his own feelings. "But, just when everything seemed completely hopeless, along came Nowaki again, and look at us now."

"What, you think Misaki's going to come back, too?" said Akihiko, snorting, "This isn't one of my BL novels, Hiroki- it's not going to end with everything peachy and back-to-normal. He's _gone_."

"I _know_ that," he said, the scowl returning, "My point is, you might feel like nothing is ever going to get better, but it will. You just have to keep going."

 _But how?_ Misaki was- had been the light of his life. Without him, what was Akihiko supposed to do?

Evidently, Hiroki could tell what his friend was thinking. "Maybe, if you just started writing again-"

"Don't bother," he cut across, "I've already had this conversation with Aikawa-san."

Hiroki's face was stony as he stared at the author. "But it might help you."

But Akihiko looked away. "Nothing can help me."

The two friends fell silent once more. As they sat together without speaking, surrounded by towers of books under a veil of smoke, Akihiko stared into his coffee cup and wondered for a moment how he had let it come to this. His thoughts were interrupted, however, by a dull _thud_ against the table. The reflection staring back at Akihiko vanished as the dark pool of coffee rippled at the bottom of the glass.

"Oy. Bakahiko. Look at me."

Akihiko complied. The assistant professor's hands were resting on the table as he leaned forwards, and his stare was as hard and unyielding as his voice.

"You have two choices here," he said, irritation clear in his voice, "You can sit around sulking until you waste away- _or_ you can pick yourself up, move on with your life and continue being the best damn writer in Japan. What's it gonna be?"

Leaning away from the other, Akihiko looked into Hiroki's scowling face and scowled right back. "You can't tell me what to-"

"I'm worried about you."

The scowl on Akihiko's lips crumbled. Colour had risen in Hiroki's cheeks, and his brown eyes were blazing as they avoided the author's.

"I am. So…" he mumbled, and bared his teeth at Akihiko, "So get your freakin' act together, dumbass!"

Akihiko blinked. Aikawa-san _and_ Hiroki… they really were worried. And it was all his fault…

He released his breath. "Okay, already."

"You can start by taking a shower," Hiroki said, shoving away from the table, "And then, you can help me clean up this shithole of a condo. Geez, it's like a dumpster in here…"

"I know." _He always knows just what to say…_ Watching his disgruntled friend (who was gathering up Akihiko's dirty laundry and grumbling under his breath), he felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth for the first time in weeks. It was a fleeting one, though. "He'd murder me if he saw this place…"

It was said more to himself than anyone else, but Hiroki heard and glanced quizzically over his shoulder. "Why'd you two break up, anyway?"

The author's stomach clenched. "I don't want to talk about it."

Quickly, he climbed the stairs and locked the bathroom door behind him. He couldn't tell Hiroki why Misaki had left any more than he could have told Takahiro- but not for the same reason. However long ago it had been, Akihiko's and Hiroki's night together was something they both deeply regretted to this day. In fact- now that Akihiko thought about it as he stripped off and stepped into the shower- in the nine years that had passed since then, they hadn't even spoken of it once. Telling his friend why Misaki had left would mean bringing it back up, and Akihiko didn't want to make things awkward- especially now that Hiroki was just about the only one he had left.

Besides, he thought, turning on the shower, if Hiroki found out that Misaki left because of what they did, it might make him feel guilty. Akihiko couldn't have that. Not after Hiroki's efforts to help him out.

 _He always acts like such a big jerk, but he's so sensitive really…_ He remembered what Hiroki had said about losing his love to another, and felt a pang of empathy for his friend.

He was grateful for Hiroki coming here; until now, Akihiko hadn't felt he had the energy for everyday tasks such as showering, but now the hot spray against his skin sent shivers of pleasure through the author. Steam started filling the small space, and he breathed it in, letting it clear his smoke-damaged airways.

He washed his hair. The soap was sweet-scented as Akihiko massaged it into his scalp. He felt all the dirt and sweat and grime being sluiced away, and it felt good. Hiroki had been right. The professor always gave the best advice- be it on his students' papers, Akihiko's manuscripts… Perhaps he should take it in this case, too. Perhaps he really was being stupid.

As he continued to scrub himself clean, Akihiko had to admit it: it might not be such a bad idea to give the writing another go. Especially with all the emotions he was itching to get out- to let them flow through his fingertips and onto the page, into something Akihiko could understand…

It occurred to him that he'd once told Misaki (in that very shower, as it happened) that he could fill a million pages with words on how much he loved him, and it still wouldn't be enough. His soaping arm slowed as he stood, pondering.

 _I can never tell Misaki how much I miss him, or love him, or how sorry I am…_

But he could tell the page.

Once all of the soap had disappeared down the drain, Akihiko switched off the shower. Throwing the remaining clean towel around his waist, he folded his muscular arms and stood, dripping. He took in the room- the dusty mirror, the cluttered medicine cabinet, the toothpaste-encrusted sink- and pursed his lips.

He had a lot of work to do.

* * *

 **Akihiko isn't giving up just yet ;)** **Hope you guys enjoyed that. Hiroki is a very fun character to write :D**

 **Also, I got 100 reviews, yay! I'm so grateful for them, and for the favourites and follows. It really does make me so happy to know that people are enjoying the story, and I very much hope that you'll continue to enjoy it, as I'll continue to do the best I can. So thank you, everyone! :)**

 **Anyway, stay tuned- the drama is far from over ;D**


	14. Chapter 14

**Finally finished chapter 14! I had to write it about 3 times before I was happy with it... I was up pretty late writing and proofreading this, so I'm sorry if there are any typos I've missed. Let me know if you spot any.**

 **Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter. I apologize in advance for the feels. :)**

* * *

 _So_ , thought Misaki as he unpacked his final box, _this is my home now._

His new apartment was nice; spacious, cosy and with a nice view of Tokyo from the third-storey windows. It was still pretty bare- save for the few pieces of cheap furniture Misaki had bought- but nicely decorated. Earlier in the day, before they helped him move his stuff in, Todo and Ijuuin-sensei had helped Misaki redecorate some of the walls; the sharp smell of paint still lingered in the air. Currently, the entire place was bathed in a peculiar shade of orange, seeping in through the curtain-less windows as the sun went down.

Yes, it would do just fine- in fact, Misaki should be delighted with the place. So then… why didn't it feel right?

Neatly folding the last of his clothes, Misaki slipped them into his newly assembled dresser (the only thing in his room besides a rolled-up futon) and headed for the living room, where he sank into the sky-blue couch. It looked great, but it felt weird to sit on.

It was probably just that the new place was so unfamiliar, he reasoned; it would be fine once he got used to it. Those awful, awful months after Misaki's parents died came to mind, when he and Takahiro had been forced to pack their bags and leave the house where they'd lived all their lives. Misaki had hated the new apartment. It had been so different and small and funny-smelling, he didn't feel like it could _ever_ be his home.

"And that's just the same as this place," he told himself. It was just a matter of time; he'd easily settle in here, and then there'd be nothing to worry about.

Still... though he might get used to the house, Misaki wasn't sure how he would ever adjust to living all by himself. His friends had left just a few hours ago, and already he felt lonely and melancholic. Maybe he should have invited Todo to stay the night…

Three rapid knocks suddenly echoed through the near empty apartment, sending Misaki leaping out of his seat and towards the door. Silly as it seemed, he was desperate for someone to talk to- be it a postman, a welcoming neighbour or a door-to-door salesman.

He opened the door to a huge, cardboard box with a pair of nylon tights-clad legs attached.

"It's just me, Misaki-kun," it said in a slightly strained voice.

"Oh, Aikawa-san, thank you!" Hastily, Misaki took the box from her. She was a little red in the face, but otherwise unharmed. "I'm sorry- I should have warned you that the elevator was broken."

Tossing her mussed, red hair over her shoulder, Aikawa-san just smiled and gave Misaki a thumbs up. "No problem at all! I'm a lot stronger than I look, you know," she said with a wink.

He laughed, setting the box down next to the couch. "Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?"

"A glass of water would be nice, please," she said as she followed him inside. Taking a seat on the couch, she gave the living room a quick once-over. "Nice place you've got here."

"Yeah," he said from the attached kitchen. The too-new drinking glass sparkled as he filled it and carried it to Aikawa-san. "But It'll be much better with all this," he added, kneeling down and prying open the gigantic box.

To save Misaki the awkwardness of returning to Usagi-san's condo, Aikawa-san had kindly volunteered to fetch the rest of his stuff for him (under any other circumstances, he'd have refused, but _anything_ was better than having to face Usagi-san again). The box was packed full of Misaki's personal belongings.

This _ought to make the place feel homier_ , he thought happily, digging through the clothes, manga, video games, pictures, notebooks and countless other items. With all the rooting around he was doing, Misaki almost missed the small, sad sigh from the woman on the couch.

"So… you're one hundred percent sure about this?"

Not looking up from the box, he let out a frustrated sigh. " _Yes_ , Aikawa-san."

"There's nothing I can say to change your mind?" She sounded disappointed.

Grabbing his folded clothes, Misaki began piling them up on the floor. "No, there's not," he said, "My decision is final."

"If you insist…"

She sipped at her water. An awkward silence descended over the two of them, and Misaki hurriedly continued his rummaging. He could put all his _The Kan_ volumes on his new bedroom shelves, and all the school stuff could go on his new desk with his laptop, and-

His fingers closed around something velvety. Misaki looked down- and froze.

It was a tiny, grey, plush rabbit. Usagi-san had bought it for him at a gift shop when they visited the zoo once. Sometimes, when his bigger bunny was away, Misaki used to sleep with it under his arm.

Twin, miniature Misakis frowned in unison inside each of the rabbit's beady, black eyes. As he stared at the toy, something suddenly struck Misaki hard.

 _It truly is all over now._

His life with Usagi-san was… gone. Finished. There would be no one waiting to hug him when he came home from school; No one to scold for missing his deadline or blowing up the kitchen; No more laughs and silly, pointless conversations over dinner; No more waking up to kisses that he pretended to hate; No one to lie with while he talked about his deepest, innermost thoughts because he knew he wouldn't be judged or misunderstood; There would be no more any of that.

It was only just sinking in. Misaki gazed emptily at the stuffed rabbit. He should have been glad, but as more and more memories started to spin around his head, he found he was anything but. Four years of love and happiness… shot to hell.

"He really misses you, you know."

The sudden declaration yanked Misaki from his inner musings. He suddenly realised his fingers were digging into the toy's grey fur, and he quickly threw it back into the box. Frowning, he looked up.

"Aikawa-san, we've been through this."

"I know you think he doesn't care about you," she said as he sat down beside her, "but he honestly feels terrible. Last time I saw him, I couldn't even get him out of bed."

Misaki huffed. "He's just feeling sorry for himself."

However many times Aikawa-san insisted that Usagi-san was missing him, Misaki knew the truth of the matter: it was because of Takahiro that the author was so distraught. After his argument with Misaki, the elder brother had (apparently) stormed over to Usagi-san's and all but bitten his head off, furiously berating him for his affair with Misaki. It made perfect sense, therefore, that Usagi-san was so depressed, now that the one he _truly_ loved despised him.

Not that Aikawa-san would believe any of that.

"He's feeling totally lost because he can't live without you, Misaki-kun," she insisted, "He _misses_ you."

"So tell him to slap on a blindfold and sleep with some other random guy."

Crossing her legs, the editor tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear. Her mouth was a thin, red line. "We both know he's done some stupid things," she said, "but everybody makes mistakes. What's important is that Usami-sensei loves you, and-"

" _He never loved me_ ," Misaki stressed, exasperated, "I was nothing but a tool to him. Don't you get that?"

Aikawa-san's hooped earrings swung from side to side. "No, I don't," she said, "Why would Usami-sensei have given up writing- his dream- if he didn't care about you?"

Hanging his head, Misaki stared at the clenched fists in his lap. He'd been so convinced that Usagi-san was indifferent to him- that Misaki's _brother_ was the driving force of his actions. But… was it truly possible that Usagi-san _did_ miss him, just a little bit? And if so… did that make Misaki the bad guy? Guilt tugged at him- but only for a moment.

 _Nii-chan. Professor Kamijou. Lies._

"Hmm?"

The boy clenched his teeth. "Whether he cares about me or not," he said as calmly as he could, "He's not the person I thought he was. I want nothing to do with him."

Aikawa-san clicked her tongue. "Are you sure you aren't cutting off your nose to spite your face?"

"Am I sure I'm not what?"

"I mean, are you not punishing yourself as much as Usami-sensei?" she asked, frowning, "Do you really want to break up with him?"

Green eyes looked right into blue. "Look, it's not easy for me, but… I do. It's not my intention to _punish_ Usagi-san," he clarified, "I just want to get away from him. I have the right to leave a relationship I'm not happy in, don't I?"

So much sadness in that pretty face…

"He really does love you." She spoke barely above a whisper.

Misaki broke his gaze away. "I'm sorry, but I just can't believe you," he said.

For a long while, the only sound to be heard was the blowing of strong winds outside. It was growing dark; glancing at the pitch-black window panes, Aikawa-san drained her water and set the empty glass down on the floor.

"Okay," she said, sounding far less upbeat than usual, "I should get going, then."

Misaki stood and walked her to the door, scuffing his feet. "Thanks for bringing my stuff over."

The smile he received was minute- the tiniest echo of her normal, jubilant grin.

"No problem," Aikawa-san said, and left.

A sigh escaped Misaki as the door closed. He was exhausted; all this emotional turmoil was getting to be too much for him.

Before he slept, however, there was one thing he needed.

Making his way back over to the cardboard box, he dug his hand in and carefully felt around until he found what he was looking for; a familiar, wooden frame. Gingerly, he drew the item out of the clutter and took a moment to behold the faded photograph.

A tall man with kind, violet eyes; a small, bespectacled child with the same jet-black hair as his father; a woman, green eyes twinkling as she smiled broadly, holding a tiny, baby Misaki in her arms.

"I missed you guys," Misaki whispered to his family, hugging the picture to his chest. For as long as he could remember, he'd slept with that photo beside his bed; it had felt weird to wake up at Todo's and not see it there. The boy felt grateful as he carried the treasured item to his room, setting it down beside the futon, which he unrolled before starting to undress.

 _I hope I'll talk to Nii-chan soon,_ he thought as he tugged on his green pyjama shirt. Misaki had tried calling Takahiro a few days ago, but was met with no response.

The strange, unfamiliar bedding was cold when Misaki slipped into it, shivering despite his fleece pyjamas. The wind howled outside, and the city lights cast shadows like prison bars across the bedroom floor.

"Goodnight mom, dad, and Nii-chan… Nii-chan," he said, closing his eyes, "I'm sorry for what I did. Please, forgive me. I miss you…"

He sniffed. When he opened his eyes again, his family was blurry in the darkness.

It wasn't rare for Misaki to cry to himself at night. As a child, nightmares would often plague him, and he would sit in his bed and wail until his mother or father came running to comfort him. Later, of course, that duty was passed on to Takahiro. Even after Misaki became an adult, his darker thoughts would still occasionally get to him as he lay awake, and he would curl up on his side of Usagi-san's large bed and sniffle as quietly as he could. Usagi-san would always hear him, however, and he would wrap Misaki in his arms and kiss the top of his head over and over again, whispering soothing words until they both fell into a peaceful slumber.

But now there was no mother or father, no Takahiro, and no Usagi-san to comfort him as Misaki lay on the verge of tears. He was utterly alone now.

Sitting up, Misaki sucked in a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut. He had to stop, before it was too late. He waited until he could see swirling patterns behind his eyelids, before opening them and exhaling shakily.

After a moment's consideration, he got up and left the room. When he came back, he buried himself under the covers, and held the little grey rabbit tightly all night long.

* * *

It was just coming to eight in the morning when Akihiko made it to Marukawa. He'd been up all night; his head pounded despite his morning cigarette, his limbs were heavy and there was a painful twinge in his back with every step he took. Still, he'd put on his black vest and smart trousers, complete with a crisp, white shirt and a tie, and driven to the office, a brown envelope tucked underneath his arm.

It was easy to find Aikawa-san. Her shrill, panicked voice rang out through the entire building as she argued with two others, both dressed in suits and looking incredibly pissed.

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry," she was saying, "If you could just give me another few days-"

"You said today," the older guy cut in, "How are we supposed to release Usami-sensei's new book with the last thirty pages missing?"

"Well, I can't help it that he hasn't finished yet!"

Tears were gathering in the editor's eyes as she stood with her tail between her legs. The other person- a woman of around Aikawa's age with sleek, dark hair scraped into a bun- narrowed her eyes and placed her hands on her hips.

"As an editor, it's your job to make sure your authors' manuscripts are completed and submitted on time," she said snootily, turning her nose up as she spoke, "If you can't manage that, Aikawa-san, perhaps I should have a word with your boss and see if he still thinks you're suitable for this position."

"She's the best editor you'll ever lay eyes on."

Three heads pivoted in unison, and Aikawa-san's jaw dropped at the sight of Akihiko. Coolly locking eyes with the man in the suit, the author held out the envelope.

"Here's the manuscript."

The two employees looked at it as a ravenous wolf would a hunk of meat. Immediately, it was snatched from Akihiko's hands, footsteps thundering away down the corridor along with a shout of, "Get it to the printers, _now_!"

He watched them leave, and then turned to Aikawa-san. She looked like a woman who had just been rescued from falling off a cliff.

"Are you happy now?" he asked.

The editor's painted lower lip trembled. "Oh, sensei!" she cried, and flung her arms around his neck.

Grunting, Akihiko tried to shake her off, but she held fast. "Thank you!" she sobbed, ignoring his struggles. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"Alright, alright," he grumbled, finally prising her off of him. _Ugh… I smell of perfume now…_ Unfazed, Aikawa-san clasped her hands together joyfully, a wide smile decorating her face.

"Does this mean you're writing again?"

He nodded, a barely perceptible nod. A squeal emitted from the young woman, and she grabbed his hands.

"Sensei, I'm so glad!" she said, and her eyes once again took on that determined look he knew so well. "You are _way_ behind schedule, mister!" she scolded, though the smile didn't disappear, "You've gotta come up with a new story idea ASAP!"

The corner of Akihiko's mouth turned up ever so slightly. "Oh, don't worry- I've got one."

An excited gasp. "For real? What is it?" She was practically jumping up and down.

Akihiko simply stuck his hands in his coat pockets, turned, and started walking. "You'll see," he said over his shoulder.

A mini-whirlwind of dead leaves skittered past as Akihiko left the office. The wind sent his blue scarf streaming out behind him, biting at Akihiko's face- but it was oddly refreshing. Pushing against the gale, he made his way back to the car, long fingers battling with the cold as he took out his keys and unlocked it.

 _Thank God that's out of the way,_ he thought to himself as he drove back to the condo (relatively clean now, thanks to his and Hiroki's combined efforts). Now, he'd be able to take a small break before beginning his next project.

Stepping out of the elevator, Akihiko almost called out 'I'm home!', and sighed heavily when he remembered there was no-one there to greet him. Living in the huge apartment all by himself had never bothered him before he met Misaki, but now that the boy was gone… the place felt so cavernous, so empty.

It was strange, Akihiko thought as he entered the kitchen for a coffee, how much he could miss _noise_. He usually hated noise, but his house just seemed so quiet now. He longed to hear Misaki running up or down the stairs, or banging pots and pans in the kitchen, or laughing as he talked to one of his friends on the phone…

The author shook his silver head. _Save it for the novel, Akihiko._ He almost had the details finalised in his mind- he just needed to tweak a few last things before he got started.

While the coffee machine whirred, Akihiko opened the cupboard above and started searching for a mug he could use (all of the heat-proof glasses were still dirty). He stopped, however, when he came across a certain piece of crockery.

A horribly familiar cartoon chef grinned at Akihiko from where it was printed on the china. Misaki's _The Kan_ mug- Aikawa-san must have missed it when she came to collect his things. He glared at the obnoxious little character; Akihiko had been forced to read all about him when he was studying up on Ijuuin's work for the interview. Just thinking of that man made Akihiko's blood start to rise again. Frowning, he took the mug down. There was no way he could keep this thing in the kitchen.

"Better add it to the room," he murmured, traipsing up the stairs. Reaching the upstairs hallway, he came to a stop just outside the second door on the right: Misaki's old bedroom.

The door creaked softly as it swung open, spilling light over a curious collection of items. Akihiko's chest ached a little upon seeing them all, and even more so at the unique, warm scent that Misaki had left behind in here, still just barely detectable.

When he and Hiroki were tidying up, Akihiko's friend had given him some advice regarding breakups. He didn't think Hiroki even knew very much about that stuff, but had decided to listen anyway.

"One of the best things to do when trying to move on from someone," the professor had said as he scooped up trash into a large, plastic bag, "is to get rid of everything that reminds you of them. Put it all together in a box, and throw it away- even burn it, if you want."

Akihiko had frowned at this. "But there's tons and tons of things here that remind me of him," he said, "And, honestly, I'm not sure I can bring myself to throw it all away."

Looking over his shoulder, Hiroki had rubbed his hair sheepishly. "Neither could I," he admitted, "That's why I put all of Nowaki's stuff in the airing cupboard."

However, the amount of Misaki-related things Akihiko owned was too great to all fit in a cupboard, so he'd opted to stow it all in the boy's old room, instead. Where once was Misaki's manga and textbooks, there now were all of the many items that made Akihiko think of him. A great deal of them were presents from the boy; Akihiko's robot alarm clock, an assortment of teddy bears, a tiny marimo ball in a miniature glass jar... There were photographs, too, like the one of Misaki and Akihiko in Sapporo on Misaki's nineteenth birthday, standing happily with their arms around each other. The author had gathered up every little thing and crammed it into the bedroom, creating a weird sort of Misaki-museum.

Setting the mug down beside a framed picture of Misaki's face, Akihiko swept his gaze around the room. All these memories… All these wasted plans for the future.

Before he could stop it, the sorrow Akihiko had been trying to suppress began bubbling up inside him. Inhaling sharply, he left the heart-wrenching room, locking the door resolutely behind him.

The author didn't even hesitate as he made his way into his office. He needed to expel these feelings; they were driving him nuts.

 _I can always tweak as I go along,_ he reasoned as he took a seat at his desk. The screen of his laptop glowed invitingly as soon as he opened it, already waiting for him with _Word_ set up. He couldn't help but smile at the little, blinking cursor. The blank page: his old friend and foe.

Before he began, Akihiko took a moment to close his eyes, letting Misaki invade his mind for a minute. He cleared his head of all other thoughts, focusing solely on the memories he shared with the one he loved; on the happiness, desire, sadness, and adoration that only Misaki could arouse within him. He thought of everything he wanted to say to him, all those words that could never be spoken, that he was itching to get out.

Then, Akihiko opened his eyes. Flexing his fingers, he reached for the keyboard and began to write.

* * *

 **Lot of sentimental items in this chapter... I was trying to think of ways Usagi-san would deal with the breakup (besides writing), and somehow, the 'Misaki room' was what I came up with. XD**

 **Again, apologies for the sadness. If you want something cute and fluffy, maybe check out my new oneshot collection 'Pure-Hearted Romance' (it only has one chapter so far, but it's a lot happier than this one!). I guess this chapter was kind of filler-ish, but fear not; things are going to get interesting very soon, especially on Akihiko's side of the story...**

 **As always, thank you for reading, and a big, _big_ thank you to those of you kind enough to leave a review. Even though I don't always respond to them, I really, really appreciate every single one of them. :)**

 **See you guys next time! *collapses into sleep***


	15. Chapter 15

**Double update because the chapter got too long again.**

 **Before I begin, I've had quite a few reviews from people saying that they're angry with Misaki for being such a hypocrite. Bear in mind, guys, that you aren't _supposed_ to fully agree with him! At the beginning of the story, Misaki was the victim, but I am now trying to turn things around a little. Akihiko has realised his mistakes, but for Misaki, who is very stubborn, it's going to take a bit longer for him to see what he's done wrong. Every character needs flaws, right? **

**Basically, I _know_ Misaki is being annoying, but it's no accident. Please remember that. :)**

 **Also, just so you guys know, it's been about a month since the previous chapter now. There may be another long time leap or two, the reason being that I need to get to Spring, when Misaki will graduate (a typical academic year ends in the Spring in Japan) so that he can start his job at Marukawa.**

 **Now, you get some insight into Akihiko's new novel! Hope you enjoy. :)**

* * *

Akihiko and his editor sat alone in a small booth, surrounded by chattering café customers as she looked over the draft of his new novel. About a month ago, after submitting his last manuscript (which was now selling out in every book store in the country, thanks to his award), the author had been hit with a sudden burst of creativity, and in four weeks had managed to bang out half of the entire story.

It was a suspense novel; a genre Akihiko didn't delve into much. It told the tale of a lone, bitter police officer and his young new partner, and the relationship that blossomed between them as they worked on their first case together.

Not that Aikawa-san knew any of that yet. Deliberately keeping her in suspense, Akihiko had refused to write her a summary and instead had handed over the first chapter, saying that was all she was getting for now. She had complained that her not knowing the full story would make the whole editing process more tedious, but Akihiko wasn't bothered; at the rate he was writing, the first draft would be done in another month. They had plenty of time.

Her eyes were glued to the text as she munched on her cheesecake. Akihiko watched them carefully, scanning for any signs of recognition. Despite her being a female character, Hitomi (his deuteragonist) still bore a rather obvious resemblance to a certain someone. He hoped Aikawa-san wouldn't notice.

Thoughtfully, he dragged a finger around the rim of his coffee cup. He hadn't particularly wanted to make his Misaki representative a girl, but the fact was Akihiko's and Akikawa's followers were two completely different kinds of fans. For this novel, a same-sex couple would not be squealed over but frowned upon. Not that Akihiko gave a damn, obviously, but he'd decided he didn't want the main message of the story to be overpowered by the addition of something so controversial.

No, the focus needed to be on Yuu Fujino, the protagonist; on his thoughts, his feelings, his mistakes, and his love for Hitomi. Unbeknownst to the readers, the whole action-thriller aspect of the novel was merely a cover-up for what the story really was: a romance.

A tragic romance.

Aikawa-san looked to be nearing the end of the page. He waited patiently for her to finish, enjoying the warmth and appetising aromas in contrast to the bitter cold outside. Suddenly, a girlish giggle from the editor broke the silence between them, and he raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Oh, Yuu… I bet you'll change your mind about Hitomi-chan before long!" Patting the thin sheaf of paper against the table, she set it down in a neat pile and turned to Akihiko.

"So. We've got a criminal-turned-cop, his cute new partner, and a mysterious mastermind for them to take down."

He sipped his coffee. "What do you think?"

Putting down her fork, Aikawa-san nodded enthusiastically. "I like it, sensei! I like it a lot. I mean, I wish you'd given me an overview of the whole thing so I could see where it's going, but…" she looked at the page again, "It seems really exciting! It's cool that you're doing something a little grittier for once."

So, she liked the story. He wouldn't have to worry about changing the plot for now. "And the characters?" he asked.

"They complement each other perfectly," she affirmed with a smile. "You should be proud of these two, sensei. They're a lot more… believable than most of your characters in the first draft."

"Well, I can't take all the credit for that…" Thankfully, Aikawa-san was too busy re-reading the first few pages to hear him.

"Yeah… I like that he doesn't like Hitomi at first," she said slowly, "I think she's going to change him."

Aikawa-san, as perceptive as ever. Even the great Akihiko Usami would have to work harder if he wanted to truly surprise her.

"You may just be right there."

The editor made a face as if to say: _Naturally_. Her eyes skimmed over his writing for a second time, and she looked up at him. "I know you said you were keeping it a secret, but can I ask you something about the story?"

"No spoilers," said Akihiko, smirking subtly, "Not yet."

She pouted, folding her arms on the crumb-littered table. "Oh, come on. Just one little question?"

"Fine."

She pursed her lips, as if she were trying to hold back a smile. "Is there going to be a… _romantic_ subplot involving a certain pair?"

The corner of his mouth quirked. "Maybe."

Several customers turned and stared as a loud squeal escaped the editor. She drummed her high heels against the floor excitedly, rattling the tableware.

"I ship them already!" she announced, grabbing Akihiko's hands over the tray. "I'm so excited for this, Usami-sensei- I've only read the first chapter, and I'm already sure this will be one of your best!"

He tugged his hands away, taking another swig of hot coffee. "You think?"

"Absolutely!" Her eyes shone, "I'm really, really glad you're not giving up yet, sensei."

Leather creaked as Akihiko leaned back into his seat, shrugging. "I decided a world without the work of Akihiko Usami wouldn't be worth living in."

Rolling her eyes, Aikawa went back to her cake. "One more question," she said through a mouthful.

"Go on."

"Why a suspense novel?" asked the editor, cocking her head curiously to one side, "I mean, don't get me wrong- the manuscript is great, as always, but it's nothing like your usual style."

Staring into his coffee for a second, Akihiko folded his hands together. When he looked up, his face was neutral.

"No reason, really," he lied, "I just felt like doing something a little different."

She shrugged. "Well, it sounds great, anyway," said Aikawa-san, giving him her signature thumbs up. "Good job, sensei! I can't wait to read more."

Leaving their cups and plates on the table, the pair grabbed their coats and left the café, Akihiko promising to have more of the first draft written by their next meeting. He wrapped his blue scarf snugly around his neck as he walked through the streets; it was already mid-November, and Tokyo was getting nippier by the day.

In truth, he'd opted for a suspense novel because that was Misaki's favourite genre, despite not having much experience writing for it. It couldn't hurt him to branch out a bit, anyway. And it wasn't like it was going to be difficult; he was Akihiko Usami, after all. However, it wasn't really the suspense he was interested in writing. No, it was the subplot (really the main plot, as far as Akihiko was concerned) that was important to him.

The first chapter had flowed out of him like liquid. He'd particularly enjoyed crafting Yuu's and Hitomi's first meeting. The whole time he'd been writing that scene, Akihiko had wanted to shake his head at Yuu- the cold, detached detective who didn't let anyone close to him- as he griped over being saddled with such a young, naïve partner whom he had no interest in mentoring. Little did Yuu know that he would soon grow to love the innocent, kind-hearted young officer with all his heart. And, though she wouldn't want to admit it, Hitomi would love her partner, too.

 _Until he fucks up and drives her away_ , he thought bitterly. Oh yes. He did _not_ plan on being kind to Yuu Fujino. As he trudged along in the freezing weather, Akihiko wondered how long it would take Aikawa-san to work out who the protagonists were based on.

His footsteps slowed. Stopping, he looked up at a nearby tree, naked save for a few brown, crumpled leaves clinging to the branches. He watched them thoughtfully, swaying in the autumn wind.

Maybe it was a little foolish; to put so much time, thought and effort into something, all for someone who probably wouldn't even read it. But Akihiko needed to write this novel. Not only did he want to do one final thing for the person he loved, but it was also the only way he knew how to properly convey his feelings.

The dead leaves fluttered, as did Akihiko's hair and scarf. He couldn't tell Misaki directly all those things he wanted to say- the countless words of love, and regret, and sorrow- but even so, he needed _some_ way of saying them. Even if Misaki wouldn't ever know it.

One by one, the remaining leaves on the tree gave up, ripping from the branches and tumbling away on the breeze. When just one was left, stubbornly hanging on, Akihiko continued walking. He didn't have time to dawdle; he had to make a trip to the supermarket before he went home to write.

* * *

It was simple things like going grocery shopping that Akihiko appreciated in life. As much as he enjoyed the comfort and wealth that came with his and his family's status, sometimes it was nice to get away from all that and do something relaxed and ordinary. It made Akihiko feel a normal guy.

Although… his weekly supermarket trips just weren't the same anymore, he found. Pushing the cart along, marvelling at the cheap candy and other 'commoners'' products… Somehow, it wasn't as fun without Misaki there to smile and roll his eyes, both baffled and amused by the author's antics. Not even the freedom to buy whatever he wanted made up for the boy's absence, Akihiko thought as he sauntered moodily along the vegetable aisle. If only Misaki were beside him, Akihiko would let him buy as many green peppers as he wanted and not say a word.

Irritation suddenly overtook his sadness. _Can't I do_ anything _without being reminded of him?_

His shoulders heaved under his heavy coat. He needed to get home and write some more. Maybe, by the time his strange little semi-autobiographical project was finished, he'd have exorcised some of the demons plaguing him.

Akihiko left the supermarket quickly (he'd just about mastered the self-service checkouts) and started for home, not even caring when the flimsy, plastic bag handles started cutting into his already frost-bitten fingers. Birds were tweeting and the sun shining despite the cold, but they did nothing to lift his spirits. A couple of teenagers passed, laughing and holding hands, and he grimaced.

God, he was lonely. Even though he was back on his feet and no longer feeling like everything was hopeless, there was still a horrible emptiness within the author. Worse still was that it only seemed to be growing, each passing day without Misaki hollowing him out a little more.

There had actually been times- very small, secret, shameful times- when Akihiko had seriously considered going out to a bar or club or something and picking up a complete stranger, like he used to when he was younger. The idea of a one-night stand was incredibly tempting- if only to regain some sense of physical contact- but thoughts of Hiroki always made him change his mind in the end. He would only regret it later. It probably wouldn't help much, anyway; like everything else, whoever Akihiko spent the night with would most likely just make him yearn for Misaki all the more. A random hook-up couldn't truly make him feel better; he knew that, really.

 _It's stupid ideas like that that got you into this mess in the first place,_ he reminded himself sternly. As more rotten leaves blew by on the chill wind, Akihiko picked up the pace, hitching up the bulging shopping bags. He had a sudden craving for three things: one, Misaki, two, a cigarette, and three, his keyboard.

The page would listen; he would tell it everything. He didn't need a stranger to soothe his pain. All he needed was a blank page. Akihiko didn't know why he'd ever wanted to say goodbye to it.

* * *

 **I get that Akihiko's making him and Misaki cops might seem a bit weird... The thing is, Misaki doesn't read much, so I figured if he's ever going to read Akihiko's story, it would have to be something pretty interesting to him and not just a drippy romance story. And he said in an episode that he likes suspense stories, so... yeah. Just think of Akihiko's book as an AU, if you like. XD**

 **Also, couple of random facts: Akihiko named the character based on Misaki 'Hitomi Natsuko', because Hitomi is a name given to girls with beautiful eyes, and Natsuko means 'summer child' (Misaki's birthday is in August). As for the self-portrait character, I named him Yuu because it can mean 'distant' or 'leisurely', which reminded me of Akihiko. Fujino means 'wisteria field'. It's a pretty common surname, but I chose it because wisteria flowers symbolise the heart's ability to endure in spite of lost love. :)**

 **I considered actually writing snippets of Akihiko's novel for you guys to read, but I imagine his writing style would be way too beautiful and sophisticated for me to try and replicate it. XD**


	16. Chapter 16

Groceries in hand, Akihiko trudged his way back to his empty apartment, intending to start the tenth chapter of his novel before dinner. He was caught off guard, therefore, by the unexpected yet familiar figure standing on his doorstep.

"What do you want?" He didn't bother hiding the distaste in his voice. The man grinned up at him, brown eyes twinkling behind his spectacles.

"Nice to see you too, Usami-sensei."

Akihiko had thought he'd seen the back of this brat when he left Mitsuhashi. His eyes narrowed. "I said, what do you want?"

Sumi shoved his hands into his pockets. "I was in the area and decided to pay Misaki a visit. I haven't seen him since graduation, and it's been so long since we spoke."

The smile he gave Akihiko was as sweet and innocent as an angel's. He didn't trust it one bit. This was the guy who'd practically stalked him for three years, after all- not to mention the entire ordeal at Sumi's house, where he attempted to seduce Akihiko. The memory brought on a shudder of disgust.

"Misaki's not here," he said simply, pushing past Sumi and digging into his coat for his house key.

"Won't he be back soon?" the younger asked, "I can just wait here for him."

"You are not setting foot inside my house…" muttered Akihiko distractedly. He fumbled around in his pocket; where was the damn key?

Behind him, Sumi tutted.

"You're not seriously going to make me wait outside for him, are you? How inhospitable."

God, this kid was annoying… He hadn't changed at all. All Akihiko wanted to do was sit down and write, and this moron had to show up out of nowhere? His mentioning Misaki hadn't been helpful, either. Sucking air in through his teeth, Akihiko withdrew his hand from his coat and turned, leaning forwards until he was level with Sumi's cocky face.

"Listen to me, brat. I don't know why you're really here, but you're the last person I want invading my privacy." Alright, maybe he wasn't the _last_ person (he could have been Akihiko's brother or father), but he was damn close.

Sumi remained unfazed. "I told you, I'm here to see Misaki," he said.

Straightening, Akihiko reached into his other pocket. A small, cold piece of metal met his palm.

"If you haven't figured it out yet, Misaki doesn't live here anymore," he said, turning to unlock the door, "So you can go home."

The younger's eyebrows lifted as Akihiko finally managed to get the door open. His expression was one of surprise, but something about it seemed… off to Akihiko.

"He doesn't?" said Sumi, "What happened?"

"Mind your own business."

Quickly, he stepped inside and tried to slam the door in Sumi's face, only for the brat to stick out his foot and stop him. Akihiko glared, but Sumi just blinked innocently behind his glasses.

"Usami-sensei, is everything alright?"

Through the slim gap in the doorway, Akihiko made the nastiest face he could muster. "Why don't you stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong and get lost before I lose my temper?" he said, snarling a little for effect.

But intimidating Sumi was apparently impossible.

"I'll take that as a no," he said lightly, pushing against the door. Akihiko was so surprised that he stumbled back, and Sumi was inside in an instant, jauntily heading over to the sitting area. "Why don't you make some tea and tell me all about it?"

"Hey!" Akihiko cried. Storming after the kid, he dumped his shopping bags down on the kitchen counter- freshly wiped clean- and turned to see Sumi draped over the couch, feet up on the coffee table as if he'd lived there all his life. He grinned at Akihiko's fuming glare.

"Get out," said the author.

"But I want to know what happened."

He started forwards. "Listen, kid-"

"I'm just concerned for my friend," the intruder cut in, propping himself up on the armrest. "Can't you at least tell me why you broke up?"

"Ask him yourself." Akihiko's fists were already clenched. It was an effort to stop himself doing something rash.

Calmly, Sumi gestured around the spacious first floor. "Why do that, when I'm already here?"

The author took a deep breath. "Get. Out. Of. My. House."

Another smile. "Or what?"

"Or I'll-" he began, but stopped himself. _No_ , he thought, gently pushing down his anger. He couldn't let his emotions get the better of him. That had already happened so many times, and it never ended well.

 _Control, Akihiko._

Throwing Sumi a dirty look, he headed back to the sparkling kitchen. "Just leave," he said, unloading the groceries onto the counter. Maybe if he just ignored the kid, he'd get bored and go.

Unfortunately, Sumi's immediate response was to leap up and help him. Akihiko gritted his teeth, irritated, but didn't tell him to stop; that was probably what Sumi wanted.

"Is it so bad that I'm worried about my friend?" the younger asked, carrying the cartons of milk Akihiko had bought to the fridge.

Though he shouldn't have responded, Akihiko couldn't help himself. "You aren't Misaki's friend."

Sumi looked hurt. "What? Since when?"

Slamming a bag full of rice onto the surface, Akihiko stopped what he was doing and folded his arms. Sumi paused, one arm reaching for the cupboard door and the other full of tins.

"Since always," he said, towering over the other, "You admitted it yourself, remember? The only reason you befriended Misaki was to get closer to me."

Akihiko never understood why Misaki stayed friends with Sumi after that. It was the lowest of the low: to use someone as a means to an end…

Within the author came a sudden pang of hurt. _If he can forgive Sumi for that, why can't he forgive me…?_

"Usami-sensei?"

Shaking off his thoughts, Akihiko regained his composure and frowned down at him. "Cut the crap, Sumi. Whatever you really came here for, it has nothing to do with Misaki."

He turned back to his groceries. Sumi had (thankfully) stopped trying to help him, and was leaning thoughtfully against the counter. The room was filled with clinking and shuffling as Akihiko turned away and started stocking up the fridge, expecting Sumi to take the point and leave. The cool air inside struck him across the face. Was he putting everything in the right place? It had been so long since he'd had to do this kind of thing for himself…

"You're right, of course."

He glanced behind him. _Then what are you still doing here?_ Sumi hadn't moved; in fact, he was smiling again. Light from the large windows glinted off his glasses.

"I think Misaki's an idiot."

Akihiko whirled sharply. "What did you say?" he asked, leaping to defend the boy who wasn't even there.

"Well, I thought he was an idiot anyway," said Sumi, his elbow casually resting against the countertop. "But now I hear that he's left you, I think he's an even bigger one."

Amethyst eyes narrowed to slits. _How dare you talk about him like that!_ "You don't know what happened between us," he said, struggling to keep his voice normal.

"I don't need to," replied Sumi, without missing a beat. "I know _you_ would never end things with Misaki, so it must have been him that broke it off with you."

"So?" said Akihiko flatly. He was so sick of talking about this… It had been over a month, for God's sake!

Slowly, languidly, Sumi began putting away the rest of the groceries. Akihiko watched him angrily.

"Would you stop that? I can do it myself."

Sumi ignored him. "Whatever his reasons for leaving you," he went on, not looking at Akihiko, "They can't possibly be valid. If you ask me, Misaki's made the biggest blunder of his pathetic life."

If it weren't for his indignation at the way Sumi was speaking of Misaki, Akihiko would have laughed. This ignorant kid… if only he knew.

"I mean, a rich, handsome author gives him everything he could ever want, and he throws it all away?" Opening the near-empty vegetable box, Sumi started filling it with carrots and tomatoes, a disdainful sneer on his face. "An ordinary kid like Misaki- he was lucky to have you."

Reaching the end of his tether, Akihiko stalked towards him with a growl. He grabbed Sumi by his sweater, dragging him away from the box- the one he'd put there _for Misaki_ \- and shoving him just hard enough that Sumi was forced to take a step back.

" _Don't_ say those things about Misaki."

Sumi tilted his head, unruffled. "Aren't they true?"

"No, they're not," Akihiko said through his clenched jaw. "He's not pathetic, and he's _not_ just an ordinary kid."

Raising an eyebrow, the younger crossed his arms. "Then what is he?"

"He's…" Akihiko trailed off. Sadness started to overwhelm his annoyance as his mind was dragged towards the one he loved once more. Misaki, who had always been there for him; Misaki, who brought out the best in him; Misaki, who changed his life.

Misaki, who would never come back to him.

Long, silver locks fell in front of the author's eyes as he bowed his head. His shoulders and fists slackened.

"He's the best thing that ever happened to me," he said eventually. A quiet sigh escaped his lips. "It was me who was lucky to have him."

A question Akihiko had often asked Misaki was: 'What did I ever do to deserve you?' Usually, the only response it gained was a flushed face and some kind of remark from Misaki about it being 'corny' or 'clichéd'. He never seemed to realise just how serious Akihiko was when he said it. Because Akihiko _didn't_ deserve Misaki- he'd always known that, and now, finally, it appeared Misaki did, too.

And that was why the Sumi brat would always be wrong. Steeling himself, Akihiko grabbed what was left on the counter and stowed it away, unable to even look at the other man. How _dare_ he…

"I think you're wrong, you know," said Sumi, as if reading his troubled thoughts. "Misaki didn't deserve _you_."

"No, he didn't," replied Akihiko, despite the painful stab it caused, "He deserves better than me. Now, would you please get out of my house and leave me in peace?"

Infuriatingly, Sumi only hummed and stayed right where he was. "I could. _Or_ …"

Akihiko looked up, and his eyes widened as Sumi began prowling towards him. Something in his demeanour had suddenly changed. He was almost feline-like; indeed, when he was just a few steps away from the author, he practically purred: "I could stay and help you. If you want."

He frowned. "'Help me'? What's that supposed to mean?"

The question wasn't answered. "You miss Misaki, don't you?" Sumi asked instead.

Akihiko bit back the sob in his throat.

"What was your first clue?" he tried to retort.

Clearly, he had picked up the strain in Akihiko's voice (he _hated_ showing such weakness in front of this man…). Unhurriedly, Sumi took another few steps forwards, until he was right in front of the author. He was only a few inches shorter than him.

"You must be very lonely," he said softly, and- to Akihiko's bewilderment- he laid both his hands against the elder's chest.

 _What the hell?_

His stomach started to turn uneasily. Sumi continued.

"You must think about him all day, all night…"

The truth in his words stung Akihiko. He felt his anger rising along with his heartrate as the younger man's arms moved, very slowly, around his neck. "I can help you with that."

As he spoke, he pressed himself even closer to Akihiko. He smelled of cologne and aftershave. The scent brought terrible, awful flashbacks from that time in Sumi's house to the author's mind. Sumi's body against his… so unfamiliar and _wrong_ … More than anything, he wanted to push the man away, but Akihiko was frozen in shock.

"What the hell are you playing at?" he asked hoarsely. His mouth was dry.

The suggestive smile on Sumi's face only widened. "I believe I already told you that I'm in love with you," he said.

Disgusted, Akihiko opened his mouth to retaliate, but was cut off yet again.

"I know you don't feel the same way, and that I'm just an annoying brat to you," said Sumi. He was relaxed against Akihiko now, his weight trapping the older man against the wall. The tiles were cold against his back.

"But for starters, why don't you sleep with me?" It was said as if Sumi were asking for the time, or the weather. "You can fall in love with me afterwards," he added with a grin.

That sounded an awful lot like what he said to Akihiko three years ago… His initial surprise wore off and gave way to irritation once more.

"Are we seriously going to go through this again?" he said, bristling. "I told you last time- I have no interest in you _whatsoever_ , let alone hooking up with you."

But his harsh words would not deter Sumi. "Ah, but that was when you still had Misaki," he said.

Akihiko stopped. _Stop reminding me of Misaki, dammit!_ As Sumi grinned up at him smugly, he felt that familiar, throbbing sensation in his chest. This wouldn't be happening if Misaki were here… If he hadn't driven him away…

God dammit, why did he have to be gone?

Apparently aware that he'd struck a nerve, Sumi kept talking regardless. "You're alone now, Usami-sensei," he said, removing one of his arms from Akihiko's neck. One long index finger traced teasing patterns across Akihiko's vest front.

"No-one to love you… No-one to satisfy your desires…" He leaned in as he spoke, his lips brushing Akihiko's ear and making him shudder as he whispered: "Except me."

"I don't want you," said Akihiko, biting off each word with a mixture of fury and sorrow. It was clear now: Sumi was trying to use Akihiko's loneliness against him. He wanted him to give in to his desperation.

"I know, I know. I'm not Misaki, right?" said Sumi, prying into his thoughts yet again. "Nobody but him will do."

His finger hadn't stopped its dancing. It was burning Akihiko. He hated Sumi; he hated him so much. For saying what he said about Misaki, for trying to take advantage of Akihiko, and most of all, for being _right_.

"But he's gone, sensei," Sumi's voice was breathy, his scent overpowering. "And if you'd only let me please you…" he said as two fingers crept up Akihiko's chest, "then that aching loneliness inside you… might just go away," he finished, his hand reaching Akihiko's face. It was warm against his cheek, horribly soft and gentle.

Though he was loathe to admit it… Sumi was spot on. Akihiko was so, so lonely… It hurt. It _ached_.

He knew exactly what Sumi was offering. And it repulsed him, but…

"What do you say?" His brown eyes were glittering behind half-closed lids.

Akihiko's first thought, obviously, was to refuse; push this creep off with all his might and get as far away from him as possible. Hadn't he learned anything from his experience with Hiroki- especially now it had cost him Misaki's love, too? What on earth would Misaki say if he learned that, after barely a month since their breakup, Akihiko had repeated the same vile act that drove them apart _again_? And with Sumi, no less?

That was his first thought. But as he felt the emptiness inside him- the void in his heart where Misaki should have been- a strange apathy overtook him. The weight of his loneliness had made him weary. If Sumi could somehow make it go away… If there was even the slightest chance he could convince him, if only for a moment, that Misaki was with him again…

Sumi's hand caressed his cheek. _No_ , he thought, _I won't give in to him. I've changed- I changed for Misaki._

But, he couldn't deny it: he was tempted. So tempted. Anything… anything to assuage this loneliness.

 _Misaki's gone now_ , a voice whispered to him, _What have you got to lose?_

A faraway look glazed over Akihiko's eyes. What _did_ he have to lose?

Nothing. Without Misaki, he had nothing.

At his lack of response, Sumi chuckled softly. Akihiko hardly heard it; he could hardly see or feel anything, even as Sumi pushed him even further back against the wall. Was he really about to let this happen?

"I'll take that as a yes." With quick, deft movements, Sumi undid the author's navy tie. There was a hiss of silk against cotton as he pulled it off; it shocked Akihiko back to reality. He stared at Sumi, who offered a crooked smile.

"Here," he said, holding up the tie, "I'll even let you wear a blindfold."

He scowled. "Is that supposed to be funny?"

"I'm serious. You can just wear it and pretend I'm Misaki." There was a knowing twinkle in his eye as he added, "It wouldn't be the first time, right?"

He couldn't believe he was doing this (was he that desperate?)… Suddenly, Akihiko's forehead creased in confusion. "Wait, so… Misaki did tell you?"

A laugh. "Actually, I read about in volume four of _Junai Romantica_."

"You read _Junai_?" he asked weakly, dizzy with the rush of thoughts, the insanity of this situation. The mousy-brown head in front of him nodded.

"I've read all of your books, remember? Unlike your other work, I actually rather enjoyed your BL novels." His white teeth shone in the dimming light of the kitchen, Cheshire cat-like, as he hooked the tie around Akihiko's neck and pulled, bringing their faces within inches of each other.

"Though I was a little jealous of Misaki…" he hummed, "reading them has given me _lots_ of ideas."

Wide, lavender eyes stared into mischievous, dark ones. _But no-one else knows my pen-name_ … "How do you know-"

Sumi shrugged. "Oh, Misaki let it slip ages ago. Don't worry, I haven't told anyone else," he assured him with a wink. Akihiko had gone completely still. His heart was racing against Sumi's chest.

"Anyway," he said. His fingers started undoing the buttons on Akihiko's blue shirt, one by one. "I was reading the old ones- you know, when Takahiro was still in them?- and I got to that volume where poor Akihiko is so lonely he tries to pretend his friend Hiroki is really Takahiro."

A tremor shook Akihiko's body as he heard the smile in Sumi's voice. "Let's just say it didn't take a genius to-"

He yelped as Akihiko lunged forwards, slamming Sumi against the counter. Several tin cans toppled to the floor from the impact. The younger man blinked as they clattered against the tiles, his glasses hanging askew as he stared up at Akihiko.

"Usami-sensei?" For the first time ever, Sumi actually looked afraid. Akihiko's fingers were digging into his arms, and he had the other painfully pinned against the hard edge of the countertop.

Akihiko didn't care. His blood was surging.

"You," he said, breathing hard, "told Ijuuin."

Beneath him, Sumi faltered ever so slightly. Fear flashed in his eyes, just for a split second. "I don't know what you-"

The author gripped the neck of his sweater roughly, all but lifting Sumi off the ground. The younger man paled, a strangulated sound escaping from his throat. Akihiko could have throttled it…

"You knew exactly what was going on the whole time, didn't you?" he hissed. Sumi clawed uselessly at his large hands, squirming uncomfortably against the counter. "This was your plan, wasn't it? You knew he'd tell Misaki so you wouldn't have to!"

His voice had risen to a shout, making Sumi flinch. Nevertheless, he managed to muster up a nervous laugh. "You're jumping to conclusions…"

But he'd already given himself away. Akihiko was wild with fury, trembling all over as he gave Sumi another hard, backwards shove.

"You ruined my whole life… He… He left me because of _you_!" he growled. He'd kill him. He'd kill him, he'd kill him, he'd kill him…

"But I swear, I didn't-"

" _Enough of your fucking lies!"_

Another cry emitted from Sumi at Akihiko's roar. He wanted to grind this kid into pulp. He wanted to hit him as hard as he could, again and again. It was all Sumi's fault… Misaki would still _be_ there if it weren't for him!

"You destroyed everything. All for your own selfish means, you son of a bitch!" he snarled in addition. Sumi had gone still beneath him, staring up with hardened, dark eyes. Akihiko saw his exposed throat bob as he swallowed, clearly more frightened by Akihiko's rage than he was letting on.

"Well, what are you going to do about it?"

The author's temper flared- and died down suddenly as Sumi's words sank in. He had to stop… His mind was clouded with fury, but he had to stop.

Still shaking, he let go of Sumi, who scrambled to the other side of the kitchen. The younger watched Akihiko warily, eyeing the author's clenching and unclenching fists from behind his crooked glasses. His entire body buzzed with adrenaline; every little bit of him wanted to tear Sumi to shreds.

Control _, Akihiko._

He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Get out," he said, his voice low and rough.

"But-"

" _Get the hell out!_ " he exploded, hurling a fist sideways against the refrigerator. It was hard enough to jar his arm painfully, and loud enough to send Sumi running for the exit, but not before he glanced over his shoulder and called:

"I'll be back for you!"

 _The hell you will_ , thought Akihiko as the door slammed shut. Panting heavily, he braced his hands on the countertop. His mind had begun to clear, but he was still fuming nonetheless.

 _That brat… That lying, scheming, selfish little…_

The author couldn't- just couldn't- believe it; that on that awful night, when Ijuuin had told and Misaki had left and Akihiko had cried, they'd all been playing right into Keiichi Sumi's hands. How could he be so cruel as to orchestrate his so-called 'friend's' own suffering, right under Misaki's nose? Hell, Akihiko had known from the moment he met Sumi that he was a sly little brat, but this… It was downright evil. And, after everything he'd done, he then had the audacity to show up and try to trick Akihiko into giving himself over to him?!

He started snatching the fallen tins from the floor (he didn't bother with the wrinkled tie), jamming them aggressively into place on the shelves. That damned Sumi… He hated him. He _hated_ him. The bastard had turned his Misaki against him!

 _No_ , said his conscience, you _turned Misaki against you. It was you who tried to take advantage of your two best friends, not Sumi. You lied too._

Akihiko felt his shoulders lower a little. It was true; Sumi wasn't to blame for _everything_.

But still… If he'd just kept his stupid mouth shut, then-!

 _That's it_. Marching up the stairs, Akihiko headed straight for his office. He grabbed the packet of smokes that permanently resided on his desk, fumbling with the lighter as he took a long, calming drag. He'd very nearly lost it back there; he had to purge these emotions before he did something incredibly stupid.

Cigarette clamped between his teeth, the author took a seat in his familiar, leather chair and swivelled around to face his laptop. Without a moment's hesitation, he opened a new _Word_ document and began.

His long fingers flew over the keyboard, a never-ending succession of tap-tap-taps filling the room as he wrote, not even pausing to think about the words before he typed them. On and on he went, pouring his spinning thoughts and feelings into the story, disentangling them, making sense of them, expelling them. Within minutes, there were pages jam-packed with words in front of the author. Still he didn't stop.

One lone, singular window of the apartment block stayed lit late into that night as Akihiko wrote. And wrote, and wrote and wrote. He wrote until he forgot where he was, what had happened to him, the pain he was in. He wrote until his eyes burned and his head pounded and his fingers were sore. Akihiko didn't even notice as he disappeared happily into his words.

* * *

 **How much do you guys hate Sumi now? :D**

 **Both of these chapters were pretty tough to get right. I'm not sure about them, so please tell me what you think- feel free to nit-pick!**

 **I'm afraid updates _may_ become less frequent before too long. I know it's annoying because I've already had to reduce them to once a fortnight, but soon I'm going to have a lot of A-Level revision to do (Oh, the joys of being sixteen in the UK...). I will do my best to keep posting chapters, though, and I won't rest until the story is finished!**

 **As always, thank you very much for reading, and please review if you have time. After a few more chapters, a certain pair might finally have a reunion... of sorts. ;)**


	17. Chapter 17

**Happy Easter! I hope you've all eaten lots of chocolate :3 Sorry this is a day later than usual- I have had so. Much. Homework to do this weekend. As a result, this chapter was a bit rushed, so please forgive me if it's not my best DX I hope you guys enjoy it regardless, though there are bits that might make some of you mad...**

* * *

The clock in the Marukawa manga department finally struck six, and Misaki sighed with relief. It had been a long week. Just recently, he'd learned that the editing office was always a complete nightmare during the Christmas period, which was especially unhelpful to the part-timer, who had been having to juggle work with the frantic finishing of his senior thesis.

 _I guess it's my fault for leaving everything until the last minute,_ he thought as he packed away his things. Still, he was done now, and there was only one more week until winter break. The feeling of getting all that hard work out of the way was euphoric.

Swinging his messenger bag over his shoulder, Misaki pushed away from his desk and saw that the other part-timers were already on their way out, too. As he made his way through the enormous room, Misaki earned more than a few envious glares from the full-time editors. They were slumped, zombie-like, over their desks amidst mountains of papers and books and files. A stale odour hung in the air; the poor editors had been slaving away almost non-stop, racing to finish their various projects before Christmas in lieu of eating or showering.

Misaki eyed them sympathetically as he left. A shudder suddenly ran through him: that was going to be _him_ next year.

It was okay, though. Misaki kind of liked hard work; it was distracting.

Outside the huge windows, the sky was the colour of ash. It was probably going to start snowing again soon- the temperature lately had plummeted. Throwing on his coat, Misaki decided to make a quick detour to the break room and grab a hot chocolate to drink on his way home.

 _Then, when I get back, I'll make the call._ A wave of nerves washed over him, but he tried not let it dampen his spirits.

He hurried to the break room, passing hassled, urgent-looking employees on his way. Just as he was about to open the door, however, a very familiar voice caused Misaki to freeze in his tracks.

"… told you to leave me alone. Why have you come here?"

It was muffled by the door, but nonetheless unmistakable. Misaki lowered his hand and took a step back, heart thumping. What was Usagi-san doing in there? Hearing his voice after so long made Misaki's chest feel funny.

From behind the door came a low laugh. It, too, sounded familiar to Misaki, but he couldn't quite place it.

"I said I'd be back for you, didn't I?"

"And I said to leave me the hell alone."

He sounded pretty angry… Who was he talking to? Curiosity getting the better of him, Misaki inched guiltily towards the door, listening.

"Come on, now, don't be like that," the voice, louder now, was as smooth as silk. Misaki drew in a sharp breath.

 _Is that… Sumi-senpai?_

"So, have you given any more thought to my offer?" The more he spoke, the more Misaki's doubts were erased; it was definitely Sumi, but what on earth was he doing in there with Usagi-san?

There was a noise that sounded like a scoff. "You can't be serious," said Usagi-san, "Why would I want anything to do with you, especially now?"

Sumi laughed again. "You say that, but I _know_ you were tempted last time. I could see it."

 _What does he mean, offer?_ Misaki was getting a little uncomfortable. As far as he knew, Usagi-san wasn't on good terms with Sumi at all last time they met, and that was years ago. So what was going on?

Suddenly, Misaki jolted. _They haven't been seeing each other, have they?!_ That couldn't be right… Misaki and Usagi-san only just broke up! And Sumi was his friend! He wouldn't do that, right?

Then again… Sumi did always have a weird infatuation with the author. And as for Usagi-san, there was simply no telling what he was likely to do. Could they really have…?

The pair had been arguing back and forth behind the door, but things were no clearer to Misaki. The only thing he knew was that, from the changing tone of the voice he knew so well, Usagi-san was getting more and more irritated.

"Just go away, Sumi. I told you I wasn't interested."

Misaki pressed his ear closer to the door. Not interested… That meant Usagi-san wasn't on board, right? It must have just been one of Sumi's schemes, after all. Though he tried to tell himself he didn't care, the breath Misaki hadn't realised he'd been holding released when he knew that, at the very least, Usagi-san had the decency _not_ to mess around with Misaki's friend so soon after their breakup.

Still, he was incredibly hurt. Sumi-senpai… How could he?

On the other side of the door, Sumi sighed loudly. "You're so stubborn… Are you really that hung up on Misaki?"

The boy's breath hitched.

"I don't see how that's any of your business." Usagi-san's voice was calm, but dangerously low. Misaki swallowed.

"You can't possibly miss him that much- he's a moron!" Misaki ground his teeth at Sumi's mocking voice. _That jerk!_ Suddenly, his senpai's voice changed significantly; it became soft and sultry. "Just come home with me, sensei. Just for tonight. I promise you, you won't regret it."

The part-timer's insides started to churn unpleasantly. Usagi-san's lack of response didn't help. Was he actually considering Sumi's offer? He began to tense, fingernails scraping against the wall as he balled his fists. If only he could see into the room, see Usagi-san's face…

 _You should quit listening in on them. Who cares what shitty Usagi does with your douchebag of a senpai?_

Said douchebag spoke up again. "I know it's difficult to let someone go…" (Misaki's heartrate doubled) "But I can make you forget about Misaki. Not only that- I can help you realise how unworthy he was of you."

Green eyes were as wide as they could go. _Senpai! You rotten piece of trash!_ Oh, he wanted to storm in there so badly…

Usagi-san hadn't said anything at all, which only made Misaki feel worse. What if he did spend the night with Sumi? Would they mock him the entire time? The idea sent a stinging sensation through his torso.

Sumi's voice became teasing. "If you really aren't ready to move on, we could always use a blindfo-"

He was cut off by a sickening _thwack_ that made Misaki jump. _What did he do?!_ Panicking, he dithered in front of the door, hand hovering over the handle. At Sumi's groan of pain, however, he pushed it open just a crack and peeked inside. What he saw made his jaw drop.

Sumi was backed up against the vending machine, covering the lower half of his face with his hands. Standing a few feet away was Usagi-san. His shoulders and chest were heaving, a clenched fist slowly lowering to his side. When Sumi moved his hands away, Misaki gasped at the amount of red on his senpai's face.

"Shut up," said Usagi-san. His eyes were deadly.

Gaping, Sumi looked from one bloodied hand to the other. Misaki realised his glasses were missing, and his eyes quickly found them shattered on the floor.

"I think you broke my nose!" Sumi said.

The author didn't even blink. Marching forwards, he grabbed a handful of Sumi's mousy hair roughly, making both senpai and kouhai wince.

"You deserve it," he growled out, centimetres from Sumi's pale face. "Now, listen up, brat. If I _ever_ hear you say another bad word about Misaki, a broken nose will be the least of your worries. Got that?"

Trembling, Sumi nodded. While Misaki looked on- utterly astonished- Usagi-san straightened up and released Sumi to swipe his silver hair from his eyes.

His brown briefcase was resting on one of the tables. Lifting it, the author gave Sumi (who was kneeling and gathering up his glasses) one last cold, hard stare.

"Don't ever come near me again."

Just before he turned to leave, Misaki hastily scurried away from the break room and darted around the nearest corner. His heart was hammering. He heard Usagi-san's footsteps out in the hallway, but they mercifully faded in the opposite direction. When they were gone, Misaki peered warily around the corner. Seeing no Sumi-senpai anywhere, he left the building as quickly as he could.

The air was freezing as Misaki hurried along, nipping at his cheeks and nose and making his eyes run. His messenger bag bumped against his thigh with every brisk step, but he didn't slow down for a moment. His mind was reeling.

 _That was nuts…_ Truth be told, he wasn't really that surprised at Sumi-senpai. Angry, yes, but not surprised. It was just like him to do something like that behind Misaki's back. He was pissed at Sumi for calling him a moron, too, but Misaki actually _did_ feel rather stupid; of course Sumi encouraged him to leave Usagi-san for his own convenience. He felt his rosy face darken a shade. He was foolish to think Sumi was really trying to help him.

 _Still, I guess I can't be too mad at him. It's because of him that I found out the truth about Usagi-san…_

At a crossing, Misaki stopped amidst a bundled-up crowd, waiting for the lights to change. His gloved hands tensed in his pockets. Usagi-san…

It had been really weird seeing him after so long (come to think of it, it had only been a few months…). He'd looked the same as he always had: dapper, handsome…

He shook his head, cold wind slapping his face. _Don't get all swoony. He's an ass, remember?_

Although…

The pedestrians surrounding him began crossing the street, and Misaki followed with a jerk. He frowned as he passed the waiting cars, slowly overtaking those around him. It was true that Sumi's words hadn't surprised him, but Usagi-san's…

 _He seemed so angry, all because Sumi-senpai was trash-talking me…_ Was it just Usagi-san being his usual, surly self? Was it just because he didn't like Sumi? Or because Sumi reminded him of the 'blindfold' incident? Misaki wanted to believe that was all it was, but he couldn't stop replaying what Usagi-san had said so vehemently.

 _If I_ ever _hear you say another bad word about Misaki…_

 _About Misaki…_

 _Misaki…_

Unknowingly, Misaki slowed his steps until he stopped moving altogether. He stood with his head down in the middle of the street, still while Tokyo bustled around him.

 _Does that mean…_ He gripped the strap of his bag, pulling it to his chest. _He really does miss me…?_

Someone bumped Misaki's shoulder as they passed, making him stumble sideways. Screwing his eyes shut, he continued on through the frosty city towards his apartment. _Don't be ridiculous- of course he doesn't_. He didn't have time to think about these things- he had an important phone call to make.

* * *

The boy's fingers trembled as he dialled his brother's number, but he did his best to swallow his nerves. He couldn't put this off any longer- it had been weeks since he tried to contact Takahiro, and if they didn't speak soon, Misaki feared they'd become permanently estranged.

As soon as the first ring sounded, Misaki felt his palms turn clammy. Damp fingerprints appeared on the phone, and he struggled to keep his grip.

What if Takahiro still wouldn't speak to him?

 _It's okay_ , he told himself, taking deep, long breaths. _I'm his little brother. He must miss me too. He must want to talk to me, too…_

"Hello?"

"Oh, Nee-chan!" Misaki exclaimed, a little too loudly. Over the slightly crackling line, the playful shouts and giggles of his nephew were just about audible.

A delighted gasp met Misaki's ear. "Oh, Misaki-kun, I'm so glad you've called!"

Somewhat reassured, he opened his mouth to reply, but it wasn't necessary; Manami spoke before he had to. "Hang on. I'll give you to Taka-chan."

With a weak noise of agreement, Misaki held his breath. His heart was in his mouth. After what seemed like an eternity of fumbling and murmurs he couldn't make out on the other end, Misaki finally, finally heard him.

"Hello?"

He didn't sound too thrilled, but Misaki felt a smile tug at his lips regardless. "Nii-chan," he said, "It's good to hear your voice."

"Yeah, you too, Misaki." Misaki wondered if he meant it. "Um. Sorry I missed you last time."

"No, no, that's okay! I…" There was so much he wanted to say to Takahiro, but suddenly, he dried up. How to do this… Takahiro cleared his throat on the other end, adding to the thickening awkwardness.

"So, uh…" Misaki began uncertainly. In the end, he decided to just bite the bullet. "Look, Nii-chan, I- That is, I want to apologise to you again."

A brief pause. "Well, thank you."

Not quite the response he was hoping for, but… Misaki bit his lip. "Are… Are you still mad at me?"

"Well," the elder sounded extremely uncomfortable, "I mean, I'm not happy with you."

He was still mad. Heart sinking, Misaki closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Nii-chan," he whispered.

"I know you are…"

"I really am," he said, "I feel terrible about lying to you, and I just want to fix things. I-if you could just forgive me, I promise, I will never, ever hide anything from you again, Nii-chan. I swear it!"

He was tripping over his words, trying to get everything out before his throat tightened up. On the other end of the phone came a loud, heavy sigh.

"Misaki…" The younger brother imagined him to be pinching the bridge of his nose, like he always did in difficult situations. "You understand why I'm so angry, don't you?"

"Yes, Nii-chan," he said quietly, "But I really am sorry-"

"I _know_ you are," he said, "I just… I feel like I can't trust you anymore. You know?"

However hard he tried to steel himself, Misaki's lower lip quivered. That dreaded burn was slowly returning to his eyes.

"I _promise_ , I won't lie to you anymore." His voice was breaking. "Please, Nii-chan- I just want us to be friends again."

"I… I want that too."

Clutching the phone like a lifeline, Misaki waited. Waited for some kind of forgiveness, some reassurance that he still had a brother, anything… But Takahiro was silent.

"… Nii-chan?"

He exhaled. "Sorry, Misaki, I have to go. I'll… talk to you later, okay?"

"Oh," said Misaki, surprised and a little confused, "Okay. Um, before you go- Will I see you at Christmas?"

Takahiro hesitated. "I'm not sure," he said, "Manami was talking about visiting her family then, so…"

"Oh." Misaki didn't know what else to say.

"Well, I'm going to hang up."

"Alright. I love you, Nii-chan," Misaki said. He hoped that, despite his obliviousness, Takahiro would pick up that desperate note in his voice; that he would hear how badly Misaki loved and missed and needed his big brother.

"Mm. Well, goodbye, Misaki."

And there was a _click_ and the line went dead.

* * *

There wasn't a star in sight above Tokyo; they were masked by a heavy layer of cloud. The air was frigid. Covering every surface was a thin carpet of snow, tinted a bluish shade in the dark of the night.

Misaki barely noticed the bitter cold as he ran through the streets, hiding his face behind the fur-lined hood of his coat. His hands were stinging (he hadn't bothered with his gloves) and his breath was like shards of glass in his lungs. Fattening snowflakes stuck to his skin as the wind blew in his face, melting on his cheeks and mingling with his icy tears.

He hated being alone. It made him sick. They were all being torn away from him… Usagi-san, Sumi-senpai, even Takahiro. _Everyone_ was turning on him, and it wasn't fair.

 _Ever since my mom and dad were taken, I tried so hard to be a good person… and this is the thanks I get?_

Whoever Misaki was talking to, they didn't answer. They didn't care; no-one cared. Misaki had reached his limit. He needed someone who would accept him- so he headed for the last person he could count on.

His sneakers left hasty scuff marks in the pristine snow as he ran, moving in and out of shadows and patches of light, ignoring the stares of the few he passed by. Only when he reached the huge building did Misaki finally skid to a halt, almost falling on his face in the slippery slush. He waited a moment, half sobbing, half panting, watching his breath come and go in small, white clouds. This was selfish, it was bothersome, and he'd probably feel bad afterwards- but he was doing it anyway.

He ran inside, and took the (mercifully empty) elevator up. At the door, he rang the bell three times to ensure he'd be answered.

The hallway was dark, but a warm, yellow light splashed over Misaki as the door swung open. He heard the person before him make a small sound of surprise.

"Takahashi-kun! How nice to…"

Ijuuin trailed off as Misaki raised his head, flushed and tear-streaked beneath his hood. The blue eyes looking down at him clouded instantly with worry.

"Come in," he said, utterly serious now.

Misaki followed him mutely to the couch, where Ijuuin cleared a spot of drawings and pencils and sat him down. He left they boy briefly and then reappeared, a steaming mug of hot cocoa in each hand. Misaki thanked him and took it, letting the mug warm his numb fingers as Ijuuin took a seat beside him.

"Now," said the mangaka, "Why don't you tell me what's wrong?"

So much kindness and concern laced his voice that Misaki burst out crying all over again. Tears splashed into his hot drink, and Ijuuin- looking slightly alarmed- took the mug and placed it on the coffee table.

"Takahashi-kun, are you…?"

"Sensei," he wept, dragging his sleeve across his eyes, "Everyone's gone!"

Ijuuin rubbed a trembling shoulder. "What do you mean?"

As he sobbed, Misaki knew he must have looked appalling (Usagi-san always said he was a messy crier), but he was too distraught to care. He hiccupped a few times before trying to speak. "First, U-Usagi-san, and now my senpai… I thought he was trying to help me, but he lied! A-and now my brother hates me, too, and I'm scared I'll never see him again, and-"

"Takahashi-kun."

Shuffling closer, Ijuuin took Misaki's cold hands between his own. Misaki looked up with watery eyes, and the other offered him a reassuring smile.

"Calm down- it's going to be alright." He squeezed Misaki's hands. "Now, what's all this about your senpai and your brother?"

His hands, his voice, his smile… Everything about him was so warm. Misaki took a deep breath, the last of his tears trickling slowly down his face. Once he was ready, he told Ijuuin about Takahiro, starting right at the beginning from the day he'd last seen his brother. The mangaka listened closely, nodding every now and again, only stopping Misaki once to offer him a box of tissues.

"… And to top it off, today I heard Sumi-senpai talking to Usagi-san…"

"Sumi-senpai?" Ijuuin questioned, passing him another tissue.

Misaki took it and dabbed at his eyes. "Thanks. He's my friend from university, and when I first started having trouble with Usagi-san, I asked him for advice," he explained, sniffling, "A-and I thought he was honestly trying to help me, but…"

"What did he say to Usami?"

Ijuuin's brow was furrowed. Misaki repeated what Sumi had said about him- that he was a worthless moron- and recounted how his senpai had then tried to seduce Usagi-san himself. The mangaka seemed to be listening intently.

"Was that all he said?" he asked when Misaki was finished.

Misaki nodded. "He's come on to Usagi-san before, so it wasn't that unexpected," he said, "It's just… I couldn't help but feel betrayed, you know? I mean, I thought he was my friend, but I guess he never really liked me at all…"

His head lowered sadly as he thought of his three-year friendship with Sumi. Had it really all meant nothing? A gentle hand brushed a tear from his cheek, and he exhaled shakily before continuing.

"And now my brother doesn't want to know me, even though I tried to say sorry, and I just…" he shrugged helplessly, "I just feel like everyone hates me."

Slowly, Ijuuin nodded. "I understand," he said, "It must be awful to be shunned like that for no good reason- especially a kind, sweet person like you," he added.

Misaki felt his face heat up, and he avoided Ijuuin's gaze as he asked, "Say, sensei, have you ever been… rejected by anyone? You know, for liking guys?"

A quiet, sympathetic laugh escaped the mangaka's lips. "I can't say that I have, no," he said, "But the truth is, that's because you're the only guy I've ever liked, Takahashi-kun."

"Oh…" Shifting uncomfortably, Misaki sipped his cocoa. He'd almost forgotten that Ijuuin liked him in… 'that' way. If he knew that, though, did that mean Misaki was taking advantage of his idol right now?

 _Of course not. I'm just coming to him as a friend in need. A_ friend.

But he was already feeling the lashings of guilt. He swallowed.

"Sensei, I'm really sorry to barge in on you like this," he blurted out, "I don't want to bother you, it's just, well, I didn't know where else to go…"

This time, Ijuuin laughed properly. Leaning forwards, he rested him arm on the back of the couch, just above Misaki's shoulders.

"It's perfectly alright," he assured him, perfect teeth gleaming in the lamplight, "What are friends for?"

Hearing him say 'friends' made Misaki feel a little more at ease. "Thank you, sensei," he said, trying but failing to pull his lips into a smile.

The mangaka must have noticed, because he turned himself around a little, moving his free hand to Misaki's shoulder so his arms were all but encircling the boy. Misaki looked up nervously, but Ijuuin's face was soft and kind and made him feel immediately relaxed.

"Misaki- Can I call you that?" When Misaki nodded shyly, he went on, "Misaki, I know the feeling of not being accepted is a terrible one. But you should have more confidence in yourself."

Inquisitively, Misaki tilted his head.

"You're a wonderful person, you know," Ijuuin told him, and he blushed, "You're kind, and funny, and hard-working… You have no reason to be ashamed of yourself."

"B-but there must be something wrong with me…" he mumbled, "Or else, why would everyone…?"

But Ijuuin shook his dark head. "It's the ignorance of others that make them mistreat you," he said, "And if they can't accept you for who you are, then you don't need them, Misaki."

Misaki looked doubtful. "I suppose that's true for some people, but… I _do_ need my Nii-chan," he pointed out, "After all, he's the only family I've got."

Ijuuin looked surprised and a little saddened by that last remark; Misaki had never told him about his parents. For a moment, it seemed like the mangaka was going to question him, but he kept quiet. The younger man sighed.

"Do you think he'll ever forgive me?"

"Honestly, I don't know," said Ijuuin. "Though if you ask me, it's your brother who should be begging _you_ for forgiveness, not the other way around."

"But, sensei…"

"I mean it. It makes me angry," he said, the smile gone from his face, "That someone as sweet as you has been wronged by so many people."

His voice had taken on a sudden edge. Misaki blinked. "W-well, I wronged them too…"

"No, you didn't," said Ijuuin, "At least, I don't think so. I don't think they've been fair to you."

Unsure of what to say, Misaki drained the last of his sugary cocoa. He was completely warmed up now, and he realised as he sat in the bright, comfortably cluttered living room that it was the first time he'd ever been there without feeling nervous or uncomfortable. Not even this, however, could lift his spirits completely.

Ijuuin was studying his face with anxious, ocean-blue eyes. "Are you alright?"

The corner of Misaki's mouth quirked up. "Not really." His voice was strained. "I kind of feel like I'm losing everyone."

It was only silent for a few seconds. Then, there was a rustling of fabric, and Ijuuin pulled Misaki into him. His hug, too, was warm, and gentle, as if Misaki were made of glass.

"Even if they abandon you," he whispered in Misaki's ear, "I promise I'll always be here for you."

With a relieved, contented sigh, Misaki leaned into the mangaka's chest. His shirt was soft against the boy's cheek, and the scent of Ijuuin's cologne was oddly comforting as he breathed it in.

 _Someone_ wanted him. _Someone_ cared.

"You're a good friend, sensei," he laughed, closing his eyes.

Long fingers found their way into Misaki's hair. "So are you," he said, stroking, "You're a good… friend too, Misaki. Don't forget that."

The sensation of having his hair played with was painfully reminiscent of Usagi-san, but Misaki tried not to think about that. Looking over the couch, he saw that the snow was now piled high over the city, and still falling. He watched it thoughtfully.

Something about crying in front of his idol and then hugging him felt a little strange. But… Could Ijuuin be right? If someone wouldn't like Misaki for Misaki, were they even worth his time?

 _But Nii-chan..._

He was conflicted, but... as he was held so tenderly that night, he couldn't help but feel that maybe- just maybe- everything would be okay, after all.

Smiling, they drew apart. Ijuuin was actually blushing a little, which looked very unusual to Misaki.

"By the way," the taller man said, clearing his throat, "When you heard your senpai earlier today…"

"Yeah?"

Ijuuin eyed him curiously. "What did Usami do? Did he go with him?"

Despite himself, Misaki grinned. "He punched him in the face."

"Really?" Ijuuin raised his eyebrows, "I suppose he got what was coming to him."

"Yeah." Misaki tried to laugh, but it died away in his throat. "Although…"

"Hmm?"

"When he stood up for me like that, it… It kind of got me thinking…" Misaki twiddled his thumbs in his lap. "That maybe Usagi-san isn't such a bad guy. Maybe I was too hard on him."

He loosed a breath. Misaki hadn't wanted to admit that, but it had been playing on his mind all evening. He looked to Ijuuin, but saw that the mangaka's face had hardened considerably.

"He still hurt you. He still lied to you."

Warily, Misaki nodded. "I know," he said slowly, "I mean, I just feel a little bad- I'm not saying I need him back or anything."

"Right. You don't need him." Ijuuin sounded… odd, almost like he was talking to himself. But then, he looked at Misaki and his old smile was back. "Besides, you've got me now. Your friend," he added quickly.

Was it Misaki, or was the room not quite so warm anymore? It must have been the snow.

"Y-yeah… I do have you, Ijuuin-sensei."

 _And that's enough… Right?_

* * *

 **To the Ijuuin/Misaki haters, I will say only this: Don't panic.**

 **I kind of feel like all of the characters were slightly OOC in this, buuut I was just having them do what made sense to me. As always, please let me know what you thought of the writing, and I will see you next time with a (hopefully) slightly better chapter.**

 **P.S. In case you're wondering- the scene in the break room is not the 'reunion' I mentioned earlier. That will come in a bit. ;)**


	18. Chapter 18

**Hi all! I'm supposed to be revising now that I'm on a two-week Easter break... buuut I'm writing fanfiction instead. :)**

 **This a slightly filler-ish chapter before I drop another drama bomb on you... :D I hope it's alright.**

* * *

Winter to Misaki seemed like an age that year. Christmas was a most depressing affair; he and Takahiro's family exchanged gifts via the mail, but didn't actually see one another like Misaki had hoped. Instead, he'd spent the so-called 'happiest day of the year' alone in his tiny apartment, a brief phone call from Todo and later Ijuuin-sensei being his only human interaction. He hadn't even bothered with a tree or a real Christmas dinner- what would be the point?

"If it weren't for me, we could all be celebrating together," he'd said miserably to his family, staring hollowly at the photograph as snow fell outside.

The remaining winter months had dragged and dragged, and all Misaki could remember was a chilly blur of studying and work and exams and the graduation ceremony, which had been somewhat underwhelming. Probably because he knew no-one cared that he was finally getting his degree after four years of hard work.

 _And I was so looking forward to making Nii-chan proud…_ Misaki sighed heavily. It was nearing the end of March now, and there was still a bit of a nip in the air, but the sky was bright and the sakura trees were finally blooming. The odd pink petal drifted down towards Misaki as he dragged his feet towards Marukawa. He didn't stop to admire them.

Graduation had been his last hope. Even as winter went by with no word from his brother, Misaki had kept waiting, hanging on as long as there was the tiniest possibility that Takahiro would call on the day he graduated to tell Misaki that he was proud, and that he loved him.

There had been no call that day. Or the next, or the next, or the following week. At last, when the green buds of the sakura trees had begun to open, Misaki had given up. His brother hated him.

And that was why his first day as a full-time employee at Marukawa Shoten couldn't come soon enough. Misaki had been moping around at home for weeks and weeks until he felt stagnant; he couldn't bear it any longer. A new job, new faces, hard work… that was what he needed to stop thinking of Takahiro.

 _This can't be the end. I'm sure you can make up one day, but until then, you should focus on your new job,_ he told himself, trying to stay positive and upbeat for his first day as he took the familiar route through Tokyo. _I wonder where they'll place me…_

The company could put him pretty much anywhere, but he hoped he'd get to work with manga. He stopped in front of the huge office block, nervous despite having been there countless times before. The sweet fragrance of cherry blossoms filled his nose in a deep, long breath.

 _Well… Here I go._

Spring had come; it was time for a fresh start.

* * *

"R-really?" Misaki exclaimed, gaping at the woman sitting across from him. She was holding his papers in both hands, and blinked.

"Yes, Takahashi-san," she said, "You did say in your interview that you wanted to be a manga editor, didn't you?"

"Oh, yeah, absolutely," said Misaki, and laughed. "Sorry. I guess I wasn't really expecting to get the position I wanted so soon."

Shuffling papers, the woman smiled. "Well, it's true that most newcomers don't become editors right off the bat," she told him, "But we're a little short-staffed at the moment, so I suppose you're in luck! Now, let me show you to the editorial department."

Grinning, Misaki stood and followed her (even though he knew where to go anyway). Excitement was bubbling up inside him; he was going to be a manga editor after all! This was going to be so much fun!

 _Unless they put me in that infamous_ Emerald _group_ , he thought with a shudder.

Thankfully, Misaki was lead past the _Emerald_ office- bursting with pink ribbons and half-dead editors, as per usual- and was halfway across the enormous floor with his guide when he was met with another surprise.

"Ah, Takahashi!"

The shout came from Kirishima-san, striding across the room to meet them, "It's good to have you back."

"Thanks, Kirishima-san," said Misaki, waving, "I'm really excited to start here first time! Guess what, I'm gonna be an editor!"

The older man laughed. "Yes, I know. You'll be working with me and the others in _Japun_."

Misaki's eyebrows lifted. "Me?" he said. _Japun_ was one of Marukawa's most high-profile magazines- surely no place for a rookie like Misaki.

"Normally, we'd start you off somewhere smaller," Kirishima-san explained, "but one of our editors left, and we were really desperate for a replacement. Kyo and Isaka-san said if any of the newcomers were editor material, it was you," he added, smiling as he dismissed the young woman.

"Really? Isaka-san said that?" That Ijuuin had recommended him wasn't too surprising, but Isaka-san was a different story…

Kirishima-san nodded. "He said he's seen you deal with a difficult artist or two and thinks you have what it takes."

"Oh… I see." Well, there was no question as to who those two 'difficult artists' were. Who knew that Misaki's fanboying over Ijuuin-sensei all those years ago would end up winning him his dream job?

"… So, I'll have someone show you the ropes today, and once you've learned the basics, you can start editing properly. That okay?" Kirishima-san was saying.

Misaki straightened up. "Oh, uh, yeah!"

"Are you sure?" he asked, looking apologetic, "I know this might be a little overwhelming on your first day, but…"

"No, no, not at all! I'm honoured you chose me to work with you," Misaki replied, bowing.

His boss laughed, patting Misaki's head. "Glad to hear it. Come and meet the rest of the team, then…"

They made their way to the office, which was larger than most and overflowing with all kinds of documents. One by one, Misaki was introduced to the other _Japun_ guys (including Shizuku, who only glared at Misaki and turned away). They sat him down at a cluttered desk between two friendly editors, and Misaki learned about photocomposition sheets and screen tones and typesetting.

The day was a long one, but Misaki enjoyed it; he learned new stuff and met new people and he had fun; being an editor really was interesting. By the time he was ready to go home, Misaki's spirits had lifted considerably.

 _I just wish I could tell Nii-chan all about my new job_ … he thought sadly- but then stopped himself. It was no good fretting; he'd work things out with Takahiro when the time was right. It was going to be fine.

"Good job today, Takahashi- see you tomorrow!" Hayato, one of Misaki's new co-workers called. Misaki waved; it was now just him and Shizuku, who said he was working late. He and was just gathering up his things when something caught his eye.

 _Hey, that looks like_ … He peered over Shizuku's shoulder; the other man was scrawling in red marker over drawings of a very familiar cartoon chef.

He noticed Misaki watching, and his heavy brows lowered. "What?"

"U-um," nervously, Misaki smiled his friendliest possible smile under Shizuku's glower. "Is that the latest _The Kan_?"

"Yeah." He turned away again. "Why?"

"That's so cool!" Misaki said, choosing to ignore the obvious dislike in his tone. "It must be really exciting working with Ijuuin-sensei, huh?"

Shizuku just huffed. "Of course an obsessed fanboy like you would say that."

 _Well, then._

"Uh…" Awkwardly, Misaki shuffled his feet. It seemed an odd thing for Shizuku, of all people, to say; wasn't he also a _The Kan_ fan? Noting Shizuku's ultra-rare 'silver-man' keyring, he gave the back of the other's dark head a weird look, and was about to leave when Shizuku spoke again.

"You know you only got this job because Ijuuin-sensei likes you, right?"

Misaki blinked. "Um… I-I guess that had a little to do with it, yeah…"

"It had everything to do with it," Shizuku said, still not turning around. "They never would have hired you if it weren't for sensei's influence."

Calmly, Misaki folded his arms. "Kirishima-san said I did a good job today."

"So?" Shizuku snorted. "Just because you can stick screen tone on a piece of paper doesn't mean you have any actual talent in this field."

"Funny that _you_ should say that, Shizuku…"

Shizuku whipped his head around, and his dark eyes widened when he saw Ijuuin-sensei. The mangaka was propped up against one of the dividers, leaning casually on one hand as he smiled at his sub-editor. It was the same kind of smile he used to give Usagi-san.

"… Because Kirishima-san said _you_ made a complete mess of my last manuscript," he finished.

His editor opened his mouth, but no words came out. As he gaped at Ijuuin-sensei, Shizuku looked wounded; Misaki actually felt a little bad for him. Ijuuin, on the other hand, bore an expression of utter indifference as he glanced over Shizuku's shoulder.

"Have that finished by tomorrow, would you?" It sounded less like a request and more like an order. "Don't want to miss my deadline again."

While Shizuku got back to work- ears burning pink- the mangaka turned to a nonplussed Misaki, whose eyes were darting anxiously between the other two.

"Want to come over?" he asked, smiling a genuine smile now. The collar of his white coat was upturned, making him look more like some kind of model than a manga artist. Misaki felt his own face heating up as he fumbled for a response.

"Um, thanks, but I should really get home…"

"You don't have to stay long. Please?" Approaching him, Ijuuin draped an arm over the smaller man's shoulders. "I haven't seen you in weeks, Misaki."

Misaki swallowed. "O-okay…"

As Ijuuin walked him out, he glanced behind him and caught Shizuku staring at them. Hastily, he ducked his head and carried on editing, but not before Misaki saw the silver lining those dark brown eyes.

"Ignore Shizuku," said Ijuuin as they took the elevator down. His arm hadn't moved from Misaki's shoulders, and he was so close the boy could smell his heady cologne. "He can be rather… insolent at times."

"I don't think he really meant any harm, sensei…" Misaki reasoned, and stuck his hands into the pockets of his zip-up hoodie. "It's a shame he doesn't seem to like me, though. I was kind of hoping he and I could talk about _The Kan_ while we worked."

They laughed, and Ijuuin's blue eyes twinkled in the dim light as they descended; he always liked it when Misaki reminded him what a huge fan he was. His grip on the boy tightened a notch.

"Seriously, though- remember what I told you about people who don't treat you right?"

"I know, I know. I shouldn't care about them." There was a _ding_ as they reached their floor, and the doors slid closed behind them. "To be honest, Shizuku was probably right…"

"Nonsense," said Ijuuin, dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand. He began steering Misaki in the direction of the exit. "If he bothers you any more, you just let me know, okay?"

"Okay, but I really don't think…" he trailed off, halting them. "Hey, what's that noise?"

Ijuuin tilted his head, listening. Sure enough, some odd thumps and shuffling noises could be heard; they seemed to be coming from a nearby storage room…

As they approached, muffled voices became audible.

"Ngh… Takano-san, quit it! Not here!"

"Hold still, would you?"

"Hey! Didn't you hear me when I said 'no'?!"

Was there a fight going on in there or something? Exchanging a puzzled glance with Misaki, Ijuuin opened the door.

The couple amidst the cardboard boxes froze at the sight of mangaka and editor. The smaller was a short, chestnut-haired man, looking incredibly flustered as he leaned back with his shirt half-unbuttoned. Trapping him against the wall was a taller, older man with raven hair, who was regarding both Ijuuin and Misaki with a look of barely concealed irritation.

Misaki felt himself flush bright red as he realised what was going on, but Ijuuin just laughed.

"Oh, it's you, Takano," he said, flashing those perfect teeth. "All that ruckus had us worried."

"Everything's fine, Ijuuin," the older man replied, even as the other guy tried to push him off. "Now, would you mind closing that door?"

"No!" the smaller man barked, and ducked underneath one of Takano's arms, "I'm going home already!"

Before Takano could stop him, he'd sped out of the room and towards the exit. His companion quickly gave chase, shrugging his jacket back on.

"Oi, Ritsu!"

The grin didn't leave Ijuuin's face as he watched them leave. "I guess we shouldn't have interrupted them… Hey, are you okay?" he asked, frowning as he noticed Misaki.

The boy was staring off after the running man and his pursuing partner, green eyes misting over ever so slightly. All the previous animation had left him.

"Misaki?" Ijuuin nudged him. "What is it?"

Shaking his head, Misaki blinked rapidly and shrugged.

"I don't know. I guess I just…" His voice quietened, and he let out a soft sigh. "I kinda wish I still had that," he confessed.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Misaki's gaze was fixed on the carpet, but he looked up when Ijuuin once again wrapped an arm around him.

"You _will_ , Misaki," he assured him, and started walking. "Come on. I want to hear all about your first day."

* * *

 _They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Sometimes, all it takes is one small gesture, one little spark of something, and a person can grow on you without you even noticing. Then you suddenly look at them one day and wonder how you didn't see that they were beautiful to begin with._

 _Before the night he was attacked, Yuu had never been sure if that were really true or not. But as he lay on the ground, despite being too numb from the cold to feel his own injuries, he felt an odd warmth inside him as the last of his assailants was felled and he knew he was safe. And then his partner- his brave, burdensome, mystifying, maddening partner- ran through the blood-soaked snow and knelt at his side and reached out her small, slender hand, and Yuu looked up at her, and he realised that Hitomi Natsuko was the most beautiful person he'd ever seen in his life._

"Oh my God."

At this utterance from Aikawa-san, Akihiko stopped staring at the people leaving Marukawa (they were by a sandwich shop opposite the building- a favourite spot for reviewing Akihiko's work) and turned his head. His editor's eyes were wide as she stared at the manuscript, long, false nails digging into the paper.

"It's happening," she said, her half-eaten sandwich lying forgotten on the plate, "Sensei, it's finally happening! They're gonna kiss!"

"Why are you telling me what happens in my own story?"

"Oh, they are _totally_ about to kiss!" she said, ignoring him, "Come on, come on…"

Rolling his eyes, Akihiko went back to his people-watching. His eyes followed the silhouettes of two running men along the street. The sun had begun to set, the first few rays of orange slowly seeping into a deep blue sky. It looked lovely against the cherry blossoms. He wished he could have gone sakura viewing for his birthday a couple of weeks ago- like he had for the past few years- but Akihiko had found he couldn't make himself go alone.

At least the book was going well; he could tell, because Aikawa-san had been acting less like an editor and more like a squealing fangirl. She kept going on about how much she 'shipped' Hitomi and Yuu (whatever that meant) and had spent the past few months clamouring for him to have them fall in love already.

So he did. It had been an incredibly easy scene to write- more or less an exact account of that evening on Takahiro's birthday a few years ago (with a fight scene thrown in beforehand for suspense, of course). Hitomi had rescued Yuu from his attackers, just like Misaki had rescued Akihiko, and then they'd kissed underneath a streetlamp as snowflakes fell around them.

He knew when Aikawa-san had reached that part, because a high-pitched squeak escaped the editor, and a hand flew to her mouth. Her blue eyes quickly raced over the last few lines, and when she raised them to Akihiko they were glistening.

"Oh, sensei…" She let out a dreamy sigh. "That was beautiful!"

"I thought you'd like it," Akihiko replied.

"You even managed to make the _fight scene_ romantic!" she gushed, paging through the manuscript. "I love this description of Hitomi-chan: _She seemed to fight in slow motion, her long, lithe limbs sweeping this way and that. There was a fierce protectiveness in her movements, and yet she was graceful, elegant-_ "

"Yes, I know how it goes," said the author, "I wrote it, remember?"

Giggling, she gave the page she was on a quick re-read. "Although… I _do_ love the fight scene, but I think it needs a little more work."

"Why's that?"

"I think it's a little rushed," she said, showing him the area she'd underlined in red. Akihiko looked it over and nodded slowly.

"You're probably right." In truth, he'd been as impatient to get to the kissing scene as Aikawa-san.

"Of course I'm right." Tossing her loose, red locks, she took another bite of her sandwich, then proceeded to talk with her mouth full. _How lady-like._

"You know this criminal mastermind they're hunting for?" she asked sloppily.

Akihiko hadn't chosen a name for his antagonist yet, though he was extremely tempted to call him 'Keiichi Sumi'. "What about him?"

"Is he the one that killed Hitomi's older brother?"

The author straightened up abruptly. "How did you guess?"

Smiling smugly, Aikawa-san just shrugged her petite shoulders. "Oh, just a hunch. I'm glad I guessed correctly- What an awesome twist!"

"Except you just spoiled it for yourself."

She laughed. "No plot twist can throw me, sensei. You should know that by now!"

Akihiko huffed, feigning annoyance. He doubted even Aikawa-san would expect the ending he had in mind for his protagonists.

Still, she kept on teasing him, and he couldn't keep himself from smiling, enjoying this rare moment in which he was actually getting along with his editor. He realised, with some amusement, how they must have appeared to the casual observer, laughing and joking as they sat across from each other at the tiny, circular table, cherry blossoms drifting past as pinks and purples and oranges and reds melded together in the sky. They looked just like a happy couple…

… As did the other artist-editor pair currently leaving the Marukawa building.

Akihiko's heart almost stopped when he recognised them. Ijuuin had his arm around Misaki, and they were walking in step with one another and laughing.

Whatever Aikawa-san was saying faded slowly away. Akihiko could hear nothing as he gazed across the road. The breeze was cool, but a hot, burning sensation arose within him as Ijuuin paused, looked down at Misaki, and ever so gently removed a fallen pink petal from his hair. Even from a distance, Akihiko could see the shine in those green eyes; the soft, pink blush across that face he hadn't seen in so long. He looked so… happy.

How could seeing Misaki smile possibly be so agonizing?

"… This is absolutely my favourite chapter so far! Will you have more written by next week? Oh, pretty please? I can't wait!" Aikawa-san must have noticed him spacing out, because her voice was suddenly right beside his ear. "Hello? Sensei?"

Akihiko's eyes closed for longer than a blink. Then he rose from his seat, grabbing his briefcase and dropping a few notes on the table. His face was blank.

"I'll go write some more right now."

"Huh- sensei?" Still leaning across the table, his editor frowned. "Are you okay?"

He pretended not to hear her. "Just e-mail me a list of edits, and I'll fix them," he said flatly.

"Sensei?"

But Akihiko was already walking away. He didn't dare turn his head towards the couple across the street as he walked in the opposite direction, into the blazing sunset.

* * *

 **Sorry. I _promise_ something happy will happen soon- well, after another sad thing. XD**

 **I hope Akihiko's story sounds okay-ish? I'm trying to make it mirror his experience with Misaki. Hope you Sekai Ichi fans enjoyed the Ritsu and Takano cameos, too. :D**

 **I want to say thank you to everyone for your reviews. Please keep them coming- they're a real pick-me-up! Thanks as well for reading, and I'll see you guys next time. :)**


	19. Chapter 19

**This chapter isn't quite as long as the others, but I hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless. Also, I added another oneshot to my collection, so if anyone wants to check that out it would be helpful. :)**

 **Anyway, here is chapter nineteen, featuring some shocking news and a really awkward elevator ride. :D**

* * *

" _Because of that thieving, murdering bastard…" There was a waver in Hitomi's voice, "I lost my big brother."_

 _Her eyes swam with tears, like deep, green pools. Yuu wished he could make them vanish. He stretched out a hand, and his fingers ghosted over his partner's cheek; it was as if he hoped his gentle touch could soften her pained expression. Their eyes met, and Hitomi's small, smooth hand reached up to hold Yuu's against her skin._

" _That's why you were so desperate to join the force." It wasn't a question._

 _Hitomi nodded. Short, dark hair fell over her face and cast it in shadow. "I want to catch him, Yuu," she murmured, but there was a hard edge to her voice. "I want to make him pay for what he did to my Nii-chan." Her grip on his hand tightened, and he felt her cheek burning beneath his fingers._

" _But it's not just that."_

 _Curiously, Yuu tilted his head. When Hitomi looked up at him once more, her eyes- those tragically beautiful eyes of hers- were dark and fierce and determined._

" _It's not just_ him _I want behind bars, Yuu," she said. "It's everyone like him. I want every criminal in Tokyo to be detained and rotting in jail, so they can't ruin any more lives like mine."_

 _He could feel her shaking. Yuu stared at her in awe. She was so selfless... He was sorry he ever doubted her ability; Hitomi Natsuko would make the finest police officer ever to patrol Tokyo city, because she had the strongest and purest of motives. It wasn't just her love for her brother- she wasn't in this for empty, pointless vengeance. She was spurred on by justice alone, and that was what Yuu truly admired about his mesmerising partner. Hitomi was so different from him… He, who had joined the force out of selfishness; a desperate, dishonest attempt to expunge his own guilt._

 _Moonlight sparkled in the tiny droplets, sliding sorrowfully down Hitomi's cheeks. As he gathered her in his arms and let her weep into his scarred chest, Yuu realised that that very same guilt was now weighing down on him more strongly than ever. In fact, it was crushing him. Cold tendrils of fear and doubt and self-loathing wrapped themselves around the officer's naked body, constricting him, squeezing the air from his lungs. He looked down into the head of dark hair before him- at his poor, precious partner._

 _How long could he keep lying to her?_

 _Hitomi's tears soaked his chest, and the saltiness seeped into his wounds, stinging them. Yuu ignored it. He deserved this pain; after all, these tears would not be falling if it weren't for him._

What would you say if you knew, _he silently asked her,_ that if it weren't for me, your brother would still be with you?

* * *

It didn't take long for Misaki to get into the swing of things. He got along well with the other _Japun_ guys (except Shizuku, of course) and the same went for the mangakas he began working with. The work itself was hard- Misaki was busy all day long, and he hardly had any time to himself in the evenings- but he found it suited him. Every day, he learned something or met someone new, and by the end of the month, Misaki was working on manuscripts and conversing with artists easily. If it weren't for the complete lack of contact with his brother, everything would have been more or less perfect.

 _Mahrio's birthday is coming up,_ he remembered as he arrived at the office one late April morning, _I should drop in to give him a present._ That would be a good excuse to see Takahiro. Perhaps they could finally patch things up…

In the meantime, Misaki needed to speak to his boss about the manuscript he was carrying. He went to Kirishima-san's desk, but found he was on the phone. Whoever he was talking to, he seemed… confused?

"Are you sure?" The chief editor's brow was creased. "I thought he was doing a really good job…"

Noticing Misaki, he smiled and held up a forefinger, signalling him to wait a minute. Misaki nodded and complied, hovering patiently by the desk as he clutched the brown envelope.

"I just don't see why- huh? Oh…" Thoughtfully, Kirishima-san scratched his golden curls. "I see. I wasn't aware of that." A pause. "Do you really think that's necessary, though?"

His eyes flickered in Misaki's direction for a second as he spoke, though it could have been his imagination. _I wonder what he's talking about…_

"… Okay, if you insist. I'll see what I can do. Uh-huh. See you later, Kyo." Setting the phone back in its cradle, Kirishima-san leaned back and swivelled around in his seat. "What can I do for you, Takahashi?"

Hesitantly, Misaki held out the envelope. "I, uh, finished looking at Hashimoto-sensei's manuscript. I thought I should let you double-check it before I send it back to her."

"Sure," said his boss, and opened the envelope.

Misaki shifted nervously as golden-brown eyes scanned the manuscript. This was the first project he'd been assigned to do all by himself, and he wasn't sure what the editor-in-chief would think. He'd tried his very best to apply everything he'd learned over the past month- he'd thought about the dialogue, the pacing of the story, the use of toner- and he'd edited the manuscript as best he could, checking and re-checking late into the night. But, without the other, more experienced editors to guide him, Misaki had no idea if he'd done a good job or not.

Kirishima-san took his time. Misaki waited until he was on the final page before tentatively asking, "Is it okay?"

Slowly, the older man nodded. Then he did so again, more assuredly this time. "There are a couple of things I'd add," he told him, flicking through the sheets of paper again, "But this is good, Takahashi. In fact, some of these edits are things most newbies don't usually pick up on."

Misaki lifted his head a little. "Really?"

"Yeah." Smiling, his boss handed him back the envelope. "Good job, rookie. I think you might have a knack for this," he added with a wink.

A blush rose to Misaki's cheeks, and he felt his lips stretch into a smile. "Thank you, sir!"

"No problem," said Kirishima-san, and folded his hands. "It's actually really handy that you're doing so well, Takahashi, because-"

"Oi, Kirishima!"

Boss and subordinate turned to see a dark-haired man in a suit stalking towards them. He was tall, with a prominent line between his heavy brows.

 _Isn't he that guy from sales who everyone's afraid of?_

Although, Kirishima-san didn't look at all threatened, only surprised as the other man stopped in front of him, arms folded in an intimidating manner. Misaki took a step back.

"Is something the matter, Yokozawa?" he asked.

As Misaki retreated into the office, he heard the man called Yokozawa sigh irritably.

"Yes, something's the matter," he said gruffly, "We were supposed to release some breaking news about the _The Kan_ movie in next month's issue, but it's been leaked!"

"You're kidding- Again?"

 _Leaked?_ Thought Misaki, keeping one ear on the conversation as he stowed the manuscript in his briefcase. _How could that have happened?_

"Yes, again," said Yokozawa, "And before you ask, it _wasn't_ me this time. It must have been someone from your department."

"Well, it wasn't me…"

"Who was it, then?!"

Behind him, Misaki heard Kirishima-san sigh sadly.

"It must have been Shizuku." he said. "I never would have thought he'd make such a dumb mistake. Maybe Kyo's right about him…"

 _Huh?_ Mildly curious, Misaki glanced over at the two men. Kirishima-san suddenly looked very troubled- What had Ijuuin-sensei said about Shizuku? Maybe that was what they were talking about on the phone just now.

"Hey, Takahashi?"

"Uh, yes, sir?" said Misaki, snapping his briefcase shut. His boss gave him an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, but could you do me a favour and go find Shizuku? I think he's somewhere on the third floor." For some reason, those golden eyes seemed to have darkened a shade. "Tell him I need to speak with him."

Misaki blinked. "Uh, sure, Kirishima-san…" As he hurried off, he saw his boss bickering with Yokozawa. The younger looked angry, but for some reason, he and Kirishima-san seemed… close. And not in a co-worker way. Weird.

Brushing it off, Misaki headed for the elevator with a spring in his step. Kirishima-san's praise had lifted his spirits hugely; he was _good_ at something! And not just a menial thing like cooking or cleaning- he had an actual aptitude for a skill that was applicable to his work. After so many years of successful, accomplished people calling Misaki 'average', the idea made him incredibly happy.

 _Maybe after a while, I'll move up and become a total manga expert. Maybe this is my calling._

Caught in his daydreams, he didn't notice the people entering the elevator until a _ding_ snapped him out of it. He sped up a little.

"Hold the door, please!" he called, jumping inside. "Thanks- Oh."

He stopped in his tracks. Aikawa-san was the one holding the button. Standing behind her, tall and stylish and handsome as ever, was Usagi-san.

* * *

There was a soft, sad, shocked look in Aikawa-san's eyes as she finished reading the manuscript. Slowly, very slowly, she lowered it to the table.

"Sensei…"

She sounded awed, but not excited like usual. Akihiko looked up. "Something wrong with it?"

He normally didn't pay much heed to what Aikawa-san thought, but this book needed to be _perfect_. Still frowning, the editor shook her head.

"No, no. It's as brilliant as ever…"

He took a drag on his cigarette. "Then what is it?"

"It's just… so _sad_ ," she said, looking genuinely miserable as she tucked the papers away. "It's nothing like _Summer Has Come_ … Or anything you've written in ages, actually."

Akihiko shrugged. "Diversity is a good thing, right?"

"Yeah, but…" she rested her head on her hand. "I don't just mean the story- it's the actual _writing_. There's, like, this gloomy undertone to the whole thing, even the happy scenes. It's almost like…" she paused and looked at the ceiling, finding her words. "There's a sense of foreboding, like something bad is going to happen."

Akihiko turned his head to the side, cigarette dangling from his lips. He let out a breath of smoke. "Is that so…"

He must have gotten carried away with his emotions when he wrote that chapter; he'd started it the evening he saw Misaki and Ijuuin together.

Even though he wasn't looking at her, he could feel his editor's eyes on him. He saw her hesitate out of the corner of his eye before she opened her mouth.

"Sensei," she said carefully, "Are you-"

"We should get going," he cut across, putting out his smoke and rising from the table. "Don't want to be late for the meeting."

His editor stared for a few seconds before nodding. She stood up as well. "Okay."

They made their way to the elevator in silence. Akihiko knew he had to be careful; Aikawa-san was beginning to notice. She could tell he wasn't as okay as he was pretending to be.

It was his own fault, he reckoned as they walked past the many offices (it was early, and Marukawa was quiet). He was letting his emotions shine through his writing too brightly. Yuu's dialogue, in particular, was saturated with all those things Akihiko wanted to say, big or little; words he'd been desperate to get out, but had no-one to say them to. He just hoped Aikawa-san wouldn't click that the police officer was essentially an author-insert for a while longer; she was sure to put two and two together, and he had a feeling his editor wouldn't react well when she realised how ridiculously hung up on his ex he still was.

They reached the elevator just as it was opening. As they entered, the author let out a barely audible sigh. It had been over half a year now.

Everyone had said it would get easier. That he'd heal, forget, move on. On the contrary, Akihiko felt like things were getting harder and harder every day. Everything seemed to make him miserable; whenever he slept in late or missed a deadline for a column, he found himself wishing for a persistent, nagging voice to scold him. Take-out food and convenience store dinners just made him think about how much better a home-cooked meal would be. Every night when he slept, he couldn't ignore that cold, empty presence beside him where once was his dear Misaki. It kept him awake. On top of all that, he kept imagining the boy and the damned mangaka together, laughing and smiling like they were when he last saw them.

 _I wonder if they're dating yet…_ Akihiko's heartstrings twanged painfully. While he wanted more than anything for Misaki to be happy, the idea that his heart belonged to someone else now was devastating. He simply couldn't stop himself from missing him.

Akihiko stared blankly into space as Aikawa-san pushed the button, barely hearing the loud chime. _I swear, I'd be the happiest man alive if he came back to me..._

As if to mock him, a voice called out, "Hold the door, please!" and a dark-haired, green-eyed beauty dashed into the elevator. Akihiko's heart stumbled.

"Oh," said Misaki, skidding to a halt when he saw them. "Um…"

He looked over his shoulder, but the doors were already closing. Helplessly, he stood there in front of them while a slightly dumbstruck Akihiko stared. For a fleeting moment, their eyes locked, and Akihiko was filled with an indescribable surge of emotions before Aikawa-san spoke up.

"Hi, Misaki-kun," she said, the cheeriness in her tone plainly forced, "What floor are you going to?"

The boy looked away, cheeks pinking. "Uh, three," he said, rubbing the back of his head.

"Oh, us too!"

"Cool."

They fell silent. Akihiko continued to stare, while Misaki looked in any direction but his and Aikawa-san fidgeted, trying to find something to say. After a few seconds of excruciating silence, she tried:

"I haven't seen you in a while. How's your new job?"

Luckily, this seemed to put Misaki slightly more at ease. "It's good- really good, actually."

"Oh yeah? What are you doing?"

"I'm an editor for Japun."

A surprised and mildly impressed expression crossed both Aikawa-san's and Akihiko's faces. Misaki was already working on such a key magazine? Still staring at the boy, Akihiko couldn't help but feel proud… even though Misaki had nothing to do with him anymore.

"Wow," said Aikawa-san, "You got off to a pretty good start, huh?"

"Yeah, it was a stroke of luck…"

He was completely ignoring Akihiko, but the author didn't blame him. What could the two of them possibly talk about at this point? Instead, Akihiko simply watched as the two editors conversed. He knew Misaki must have been painfully aware of him staring, but the author just couldn't keep his eyes off him; apart from that glimpse he caught of Misaki on the street, Akihiko hadn't seen the boy in over six months.

He hadn't changed much- or at all, really. He was dressed casually (though Akihiko noted he was carrying the briefcase he'd bought him), his hair was the same length, and his eyes were still of that enticing, lush green hue. He wasn't an inch taller- still petite and adorable- and his charming little face was as lively and animated as always... Akihiko gazed wistfully at him. After so long, being so close to him was both amazing and torturous.

"I've actually been meaning to thank you, Aikawa-san," Misaki was saying.

"Thank me? Why?"

"Well, if it weren't for you, I probably wouldn't have even considered becoming a manga editor," he said. He had a broad smile on his face. "But I'm really enjoying my job so far! I'm so glad I chose it in the end."

The sparkle in his eyes brought a soft smile to Akihiko's own face. He'd come so far… Akihiko always knew he could do it. Misaki never had much confidence in himself, but the author had believed in him from the very start. He still believed in him.

Suddenly, Misaki looked up and caught him smiling. His eyebrows lowered immediately.

"What's so funny?"

Blinking, Akihiko quickly averted his gaze. "Nothing."

Misaki continued scowling, and Aikawa-san bit her lower lip. The atmosphere in the tiny space plummeted again. The elevator seemed to crawl.

 _Great. Now he thinks I'm laughing at him._

Mercifully, a tinkly tune cut through the thick silence as Misaki's phone rang. Akihiko could have sworn he saw the boy sigh in relief as he dug it out of his jeans pocket.

"Excuse me," he said, and held the phone to his ear. "Hello? Yes, this is Misaki…"

Finally- _finally_ \- they reached their floor. While he was distracted by the phone call, Akihiko gave one last, lingering glance at Misaki before he followed his editor out. The ache in his chest was back, accompanied by a strange heaviness.

Either Aikawa-san hadn't noticed his plight, or she was pretending not to. She smiled brightly at Akihiko as they walked side-by-side, speaking in her usual, business-like tone.

"So, about that column of yours, sensei…"

"What?"

It was so quiet, author and editor almost missed it. But that one short word was so hushed, so fearfully uttered, that both of them stopped walking and turned around.

Misaki was standing just outside the closing elevator doors. His phone was still at his ear, but Akihiko noticed that the boy was now gripping it tightly. His face was slack.

"But, where…?" he stopped again, and an expression of pure terror flickered across his face. He was silent for a long time, listening. "… Okay. I'm on my way. Thank you."

He hung up. Misaki's free hand was limp at his side, while the other remained in front of his face with the phone. Even after pressing the button, he kept staring at it. It was hard to tell from a distance, but Akihiko thought he was trembling. His stomach tightened uneasily as he and Aikawa-san edged closer to the frozen boy.

"Misaki-kun?" said Aikawa-san uncertainly, "What is it?"

Slowly, shakily, Misaki looked up. His face was white, and his eyes- so full of joy a few minutes ago- were round with fear.

"It's my brother," he said, "He's hurt."

* * *

 **I know, I know. This story is so angsty it verges on the ridiculous. But I'm writing this fic for fun, and angst happens to be my guilty pleasure, okay? :D**

 **Anyway, sorry for the cliff hanger. Apologies also if the excerpt from Akihiko's book was confusing- it should make more sense as they story goes along.**

 **Hope you Sekai Ichi fans enjoyed the Yokozawa-san cameo. There are probably going to be quite a few SIH references in this story from now on... XD**

 **Thanks for reading, and please review! I will have the next chapter up soon... maybe. ;)**


	20. Chapter 20

**Enjoy these fast updates now, guys- next week I'll be back at school and won't be able to write fanfiction all day. XD**

* * *

A cold stone dropped onto Akihiko's stomach.

"Takahiro?" he choked. His throat was suddenly desert-dry.

"Oh, no," said Aikawa-san, bringing a hand to her mouth. "What happened?"

"They said…" Misaki seemed unable to move. He was shivering like a lost kitten, clutching his phone as if it were a lifeline. "They said there was a traffic accident. And Nii-chan, he's…"

Panic began to rise within Akihiko. Shakily, Misaki lifted both hands and raked them through his dark hair. "Oh my God, I have to get to the hospital."

"I'll drive you."

Akihiko's mouth said it on its own. Huge, green eyes looked up at him, shocked, but the author held their gaze. After a moment of silence, Misaki said in a bewildered voice:

"Y-you don't have to-"

"It'll be faster in my car." He took a step towards the boy. "Come on."

The younger only hesitated for a second. "Okay."

With that, they bolted, leaving a surprised and very concerned Aikawa-san to gape after them. Through the network of corridors they ran, shoving past many a startled employee. Thundering down the stairs, they sprinted across the parking lot. The sky was thick and grey, the tarmac beneath them shining. Akihiko barely noticed as cold water stung his face. He fumbled for his keys as the sports car came into view, leaping into the driver's seat; Misaki was soon beside him, slamming the door. As they fastened their seatbelts with trembling fingers, Akihiko glanced over at him.

"Which hospital?"

"Sanno," he said, and the car shot like a shiny, red bullet out onto the road.

The ride, like the windows, was a blur; Akihiko could hear nothing but the roar of the engine, the rattling of rain on the roof, the blaring car horns around him, and the blood pumping in his own ears. His heart was pounding.

 _Takahiro, please be alright… Please be alright…_

He tried not to panic- not least because Misaki was with him and he was in control of the car- but the further along they drove, the more he became aware of his muscles locking up, the sweat forming on his brow. His knuckles were white around the steering wheel. Each high-pitched squeak of the windscreen-wipers stretched his nerves a little further.

At some point during the (seemingly endless) journey, Misaki started sobbing beside him, and Akihiko felt around until his hand found Misaki's knee. It stayed there for the rest of the ride, any awkwardness completely dispelled by their mutual worry. Their fear for Takahiro surpassed everything.

Finally, the enormous, colourless block of the hospital loomed ominously into view. Akihiko parked and hurried around to the passenger door, opening it for Misaki.

"You okay?"

Misaki sniffed. His face was blotchy and wet, but he nodded, jumping out of the car. "Let's go."

They hurried inside, splashing through murky puddles. Once in, the pair of them charged up to the registration desk, where a woman in a blue uniform looked up to greet them.

"How is Takahiro Takahashi?" Akihiko demanded.

The nurse looked slightly taken aback, but she smiled politely and asked, "Are you a member of the immediate family?"

"I'm his brother," said Misaki.

She nodded. "I see. One moment, please."

Calmly, she picked up the telephone and made a quick call. Akihiko and Misaki hovered by the desk. When she finally put down the phone again, green and purple eyes were boring into her in anticipation.

"I'm afraid Takahashi-san is still in critical condition," she told them. Akihiko's stomach gave a lurch and he was certain Misaki's had done the same. "They're operating as we speak, but surgery's going to take at least a few hours."

The younger brother's face was pale and pinched. "Where are my nephew and sister-in-law?"

"In a separate room by themselves." Sadly, the nurse explained, "I think it's taking everything she has to stay calm for their son."

"Well… is my brother going to be alright?"

His voice quavered as he clenched and unclenched his fists. The nurse gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry, sir, but I couldn't say at this point. But please, try to remain calm and have a seat."

She gestured over to the waiting area. Akihiko watched as Misaki stood still for a moment, before wandering, ghost-like, to the other side of the room. He sank into a chair, looking so small and frightened that it took all Akihiko had not to run over and envelop the boy in his arms.

Instead, he thanked the nurse and stood by the desk for a moment, willing his heart to slow, his body to still. Rain drummed relentlessly against the windowpanes.

 _Hold on, Takahiro… Please, for the love of God, just hang in there._

He had to keep calm. Not just for his own sake, but for Misaki's; yes, he was worried sick about Takahiro, and yes, Misaki was his ex-boyfriend who hated his guts, but nevertheless, Akihiko was here for him as much as he was here for his older brother. He couldn't lose control.

With one hand on the wall to steady himself, he looked around the waiting room (keeping an eye on Misaki as he did so). There weren't many other people there; a TV hung in the corner, turned to the news; across the room were two vending machines, one for snacks and one for hot drinks.

Sighing, Akihiko headed over to them. His insides were churning like he was seasick, but he bought himself a coffee and made a hot cocoa with two sugars for Misaki. He also got them a sandwich each from the other machine, though he doubted either of them would actually be eaten.

"Are you okay?" he asked (somewhat pointlessly, given the circumstances) as he carried the food and drinks over to the corner. The furrows in his brow deepened when he came closer to Misaki; the boy was shrivelled, pulling his damp jacket tightly around him as he ducked his head. He was shuddering violently, and as Akihiko knelt in front of him, quiet whimpers became audible.

"Hey…" he said softly. Misaki didn't answer. His breathing was laboured, shoulders heaving up and down. Carefully, Akihiko reached out for them. He knew in the back of his mind just how weird this was- that he shouldn't be so familiar with Misaki after so long, but that didn't matter at the moment. Large hands, clammy with rain, held the other's slim shoulders gently but firmly.

"Slow down, Misaki. Deep breaths… There you go," he said as Misaki's ragged breathing evened out (it wasn't the first time Akihiko had seen him like this- he knew how to handle it). "Try and calm down, okay?"

"How can I calm down?!" cried Misaki hysterically, his head jerking abruptly upright. His eyes were wild and wider than Akihiko had ever seen them.

The author held up his hands. "I know, I know. But working yourself up won't help anyone," he reasoned. Composed, rational… that was his role here. "We're here now- all we can do is wait."

He was half expecting Misaki to blow up at him; to ask, how could Akihiko be so calm when Takahiro might not make it? Why was he even daring to speak to Misaki after what he'd done?! But Misaki didn't say anything. He only stared at Akihiko in a helpless, lost way, before his face suddenly crumpled and flooded with tears. He covered it hastily, snuffling into his hands.

Akihiko watched him cry in silent agitation, unsure of what to do or say. If only he hadn't driven Misaki away, he'd be able to comfort him; hold him close, kiss the tears from his cheeks like he used to. But they were on such shaky ground now… He just didn't know how to help.

Awkwardly, he squeezed Misaki's shoulders.

"There, there…" Oh, he wished he could stop him from trembling so… "It's going to be alright."

From behind the mask of Misaki's hands came a muffled sob.

"What if it's not? What if he…"

Akihiko sighed heavily. He looked away. "We'll just have to pray it doesn't come to that," he murmured. In truth, he was terrified for the exact same reason, but he couldn't let that show just now. While it would hurt Akihiko immensely if Takahiro didn't pull through, it would hurt Misaki much, much more… He had to keep it together for him.

Gradually, Misaki lowered his quivering hands. The author resisted the urge to brush away the teardrops himself, instead digging out a packet of tissues and handing them over. Misaki took one gratefully, pressing it to his eyes but to no avail.

After a minute or two, he spoke again. His voice was thick.

"I-I can't…" he said, "I can't lose him too…"

"You don't know you've lost him yet," Akihiko half-whispered. As he peered through dark, dripping hair into that fretful face, he could practically hear the gears whirring in Misaki's troubled mind. He knew the boy was wondering if he'd ever see his brother again, and thinking of all the things they still needed to do together, and wishing he could go back and change things. Akihiko knew he was thinking of his parents and how this happened to them, too; of the sickening irony of it all.

The author swallowed, remembering Misaki's rare mentions of his dead mother and father. Was that history about to repeat itself? Would Misaki lose both his parents _and_ his brother to a rain-slicked road?

No. Fate could not possibly be that cruel.

Misaki's muttering brought Akihiko out of his thoughts. He was clutching his head in both hands, eyes screwed tightly shut.

"I c-can't lose Nii-chan…" He shook his head, hiccupping, "Especially not n-now… Not when I haven't even see-seen him in months. I need to say good-goodbye before… before…"

 _Oh, Misaki, please don't cry…_ If _only_ Akihiko could embrace him, just once. Exhaling, he pushed his fingers through his wet hair, leaving silvery tracks in their wake.

"Listen, Misaki…" For once, he struggled with his words. "I know I'm the last person you'd want to see at a time like this- you or Takahiro," he said finally. Misaki didn't confirm or deny it, and he gulped away the dryness in his mouth before continuing.

"But, I want you to know that I care about you both, very much, and…" _Keep your voice steady, dammit._ "Whatever the outcome of this, I'll do anything I can to support you."

Slowly, Misaki looked up. There was something of a disbelieving look on his face. Akihiko didn't waver; Misaki could call him a liar if he wanted, but he _did_ care, and he'd make sure both Takahashi brothers knew it. If it turned out Takahiro needed expensive treatment, Akihiko would pay for it. If Manami and her son needed support, he'd get it for them. And if… A shudder crawled up Akihiko's spine. If, God forbid, the worst were to happen, then… he was going to do everything he could possibly do to help Misaki, whether he liked it or not.

"I…" an expression Akihiko couldn't quite place crossed the other's face. His lips parted once or twice, but no sound came from them.

"… Thank you, Usagi-san," he eventually said.

 _Usagi-san_ … His nickname was cracked with what Akihiko recognised as gratitude, and somehow, it made the author feel just the tiniest bit better.

Unable to think of anything to say, Akihiko merely answered with a nod of his head. He stood up and took a seat beside Misaki, and the two of them fell silent again.

 _This isn't normal, is it?_ Akihiko was hardly an average Joe, but even he could see how odd this situation was. The last time he'd seen either Takahashi brother, they'd told him to never come near them again. And yet, here he was, sitting in an uncomfortable chair in a strange hospital, waiting for his ex-best friend alongside the boy who used to love him. And yet…

He glanced over at Misaki, who was taking a shivery sip of cocoa. Somehow, this didn't feel as awkward as it should. It was as if the pair of them had wordlessly agreed to put aside their history for the time being, united in their desperation for Takahiro to endure.

 _What if he really does…?_ A fresh wave of fear washed over him, and he shifted in the hard, plastic chair. Dampness from his clothes seemed to seep into and permeate his very skin, giving him chills. He looked at the boy beside him yet again (wondering if he was also cold) and noticed that Misaki's hands were clasped tightly together. His pale lips were just barely moving; he was praying for his brother.

 _Oh, Misaki_ … At first, Akihiko thought it best to just let the poor boy be, but upon consideration, some kind of distraction might help him- both of them. He cleared his throat.

"So, you're working on _Japun_ now."

Misaki raised his head to him, blinking. "Yeah," he said after a pause. "Isaka-san put me there."

His voice was hollow, but at least he was talking. "That's very impressive," said Akihiko encouragingly. "Are you enjoying it?"

A slow nod. "I am. It's interesting- and fun."

"Good."

The conversation dried up again, and Akihiko began subconsciously bumping his leg up and down. Maybe, he thought, Misaki just needed some time on his own? Akihiko didn't want to leave him alone here, but perhaps if he just went for a walk or something…

"What about you, Usagi-san?"

Surprised, he turned his head. "What about me?"

Misaki wouldn't quite look him in the face. He fidgeted, rubbing one of his skinny wrists. "Like, how have you been? Good?"

 _Terrible. Lonely._ "Not too bad, I suppose."

A few more minutes ticked by.

"I hope Nee-chan and Mahiro are okay…"

So caring… "They'll be alright. They've got each other."

And so did Akihiko and Misaki, in some sense. True, they weren't exactly on the best of terms, but… better Misaki had his ex for company right now than no-one, right?

It felt strange to be alone with him. In any other situation- one where someone's life wasn't hanging in the balance- Akihiko would probably be pouring his feelings out to his beloved by now. There was so much he wanted to say: _I still love you, I'm sorry, take me back, I miss you_ … but now wasn't the time for such things.

Instead, he asked the question that had been bugging him for the past twenty minutes.

"You… You said you haven't seen Takahiro in a while?"

Beside him, Misaki's head lowered again. A few last raindrops fell from his hair into his lap. "We haven't spoken since December," he mumbled. "He's still mad at me."

He didn't need to say why. Akihiko's heart sank.

"I'm sorry."

A small, barely perceptible shake of the head. "S'not your fault."

Silence again. Akihiko gulped his coffee, barely tasting a thing. The rain kept on falling. The clock kept on ticking. When Misaki finally spoke again, his voice was broken and ever so quiet.

"I'm so scared…"

At that moment, Akihiko wanted nothing more in the world than to reach across those five centimetres between them, gather Misaki into him and tell him that everything was going to be okay; he was here; he'd protect him…

But those five centimetres might as well have been a mile.

The author sipped his coffee. "Me, too."

* * *

All day they stayed in that waiting room. The rain didn't once stop rattling, and the clock hands ticked and ticked and ticked, hour after hour, agonisingly slow. There was no word on Takahiro. People came and went, and the ex-lovers stayed in the corner, waiting.

Neither of them said much. Their sandwiches- a few miniscule bites missing from each- gathered dust on the table. The majority of Misaki's cocoa was left to cool in its cup. Akihiko made him another after about four hours, and this one Misaki drank.

By late afternoon, the rainy sky had grown even darker, and the electrical hum of the overheads filled the waiting room. They were too bright; they hurt Akihiko's tired eyes. He was unbearably tense, his shoulder muscles stiff and sore.

 _What are they_ doing _to him?_

A sudden weight against his upper arm made him jump. Looking down, he saw a tangle of chocolate-coloured hair resting on him, and raised an eyebrow. Misaki's head had been drooping now and again for the past hour, but Akihiko didn't think he'd actually fall asleep.

 _Worry must have exhausted him…_ Indeed, Misaki was only just unconscious; his eyes were moving restlessly beneath his lids, long lashes fluttering uneasily.

After a moment's hesitation, Akihiko inched his arm around the boy's shoulders. His hand made its way into Misaki's hair; it was as soft as ever. Trying to ignore the throbbing in his chest, he stroked the unruly locks, cautious in case he woke Misaki up (he needed the rest, after all). Beneath the lingering smell of rainwater, he still had that scent that was distinctly Misaki. Akihiko breathed it in, making the most of this closeness while he could.

Misaki's mouth was tilted unhappily downwards as he slept. Akihiko stared at it. He remembered their last kiss, on the night of Misaki's birthday party; that tiny goodnight peck before everything went to hell. How Akihiko would have prolonged that kiss, savoured it, if he'd known it was the last time he'd ever feel Misaki's lips against his own…

 _Stop it. Now's not the time_.

Tearing his gaze away from the boy, he surveyed the waiting room for the millionth time instead. It occurred to the novelist that he'd never been in a 'normal' hospital before (his family had their own doctor, and were only ever treated in private clinics) and if he weren't so anxious about Takahiro, it might have been interesting. Various medical posters adorned the walls; there were dispensers for hand sanitizer everywhere; in the air was a pungent odour of disinfectant that made the place feel clean but cold. Some shabby magazines and the TV were the only forms of entertainment.

Akihiko looked up at the fuzzy screen (it was showing something about pandas) and huffed. This place wasn't good enough for Takahiro; maybe, after the operation, he could have him moved to a better place…

 _If_ he made it through the surgery.

The fingers combing Misaki's hair tightened involuntarily. The boy whined something in his sleep, twitching, and Akihiko ran a hand over his chin.

 _Please, please, please let him survive…_

As the drizzle outside continued, Akihiko looked around at the fellow waiters, wondering if any of them were facing as much inner turmoil as he or Misaki. There was a tired-looking man in a suit opposite them, a teenager flipping through a magazine… In one corner, a mother with two small children, holding a hand each. By the far wall, a man holding an elderly lady while she wept. Each grouping scattered across the room was a separate little soap-opera scenario…

"Takahashi?"

Misaki sat bolt upright, startling Akihiko. As soon as he saw the doctor, he was on his feet.

"Yes?"

The doctor's face was unreadable. Her pristine, white coat gleamed under the bright lights as she beckoned to Misaki.

"Please come with me."

Misaki's throat bobbed. Sparing one brief, backwards glance at the author, he hurried out of the room, leaving Akihiko to wait and hope and pray.

* * *

 **Aaand I'm leaving you there. Sorry.**

 **This was a tricky one, but I do hope you guys enjoyed it. What did you think? Please tell me- I've been getting a load of views and not that many reviews in comparison. Obviously you don't have to comment if you don't want to, but... it would be really nice to hear from a few more of you is all I'm saying. :)**

 **Also, a note: Sanno hospital is a real hospital in Minato, Tokyo. I don't remember the original Junjou specifically stating whereabouts in the city the characters live, but I've assumed it's Minato because a) it's the closest area in Tokyo to the Daikanransha, which I'm pretty sure is the Ferris wheel from Misaki's and Akihiko's first date, and b) it's also home to Azabu, the most expensive residential area in Tokyo and so a possible location for Usagi-san's snazzy condo. ANYWAY, that's why I chose Sanno hospital, but if anyone knows where the characters actually live, feel free to correct me.**

 **Well, as always, thank you very much for reading! I'll try and have another chapter up before I have to go back to school. :3**


	21. Chapter 21

**I considered waiting a few more days before posting this to keep you all in suspense, but my friend who's reading this started sending me death threats. So, here it is, guys; it's Schr** **ödinger's Nii-chan...**

* * *

The silence in the waiting room was maddening. Akihiko's heart was like a racing cycle, and his left leg seemed to have a mind of its own. He could feel bile rising in his throat.

The feeling was a little like last September, when he was waiting to hear back from Misaki. At the time, Akihiko had felt as if the fate of the whole world was on the line, but his feelings back then suddenly seemed incredibly insignificant compared to this. This was the same horrible, horrible feeling of _not knowing_ , but this time, the subject in question was somebody's _life_. And not just anybody- Takahiro, still (in Akihiko's mind, at least) his dear friend, despite the gap that had opened up between them. Akihiko still loved him, and now he had no idea if he was even alive or not.

Rain was still tapping persistently at the windows. It set Akihiko's teeth on edge. He glanced at the door and back to his lap, sighing. What would he do if Takahiro was really… taken? The thought of losing him for good would be unbearable enough even if they were still friends, but Akihiko had screwed things up with him so badly... Not to mention, he'd also destroyed his relationship with his little brother, who might not get a chance to reconcile with him now.

A trickle of sweat slipped down Akihiko's face, disappearing into his loosened collar. Misaki would know by now; he'd be overwhelmed with either joy or grief. The author dreaded to see the state he was in if it was the latter. Was Misaki crying? Screaming? Maybe he hadn't come back because they'd had to sedate him… Akihiko checked his watch. Six minutes, he'd been gone.

 _Calm down,_ he told himself, _it might be okay…_

Nonetheless, he couldn't stop his brain from imagining worst-case scenarios. More and more frightful images kept flashing in his mind, making him sick. After another five minutes (the longest in Akihiko's entire life) he'd just made up his mind to go and find out what was going on for himself-when a figure suddenly appeared by his side.

Akihiko leapt to his feet. "Well?"

Misaki's stood still. His voice was little more than a whisper.

"He made it."

The world's tightest belt unfastened itself from around Akihiko's waist. His shoulders relaxed, and a long breath flowed from his lungs as he closed his eyes.

"Oh, thank God…"

"Yeah." Misaki, too, looked extremely relieved; his face had softened once more, and he was still quaking a tiny bit, as though he couldn't quite believe it.

"Is he awake?" the author asked.

Misaki shook his head. "Not yet. He's still in pretty bad shape, but the doctor said he'll be able to get better in time."

"I see." The thought of an injured Takahiro was a terrible one- but it could have been _so_ much worse. A gleeful rush swept through Akihiko's body.

"I'm so glad…" he murmured, and then let out the smallest huff of a laugh. "I'm so glad."

The shorter man nodded. When he looked up at Akihiko properly (for the first time in ages, he might add) there was a happy, pink glow to his cheeks. He wasn't smiling, though.

"Um… They're going to let me go and see him, now," he told him, rubbing the back of his neck. "Do you… want to come too, Usagi-san?"

Surprised, Akihiko opened his mouth, but closed it again. He _did_ want to see Takahiro, but he doubted the poor man would want his jerk of an ex-best friend around at a time like this (even if he was unconscious). Plus, with all they'd been through, Takahiro's family probably needed him to themselves.

"I probably shouldn't," he said eventually. He felt bad, but Misaki seemed to understand.

"Okay, then." Looking away for a moment, the boy chewed his lip and said, "Listen, I'm-"

"Don't say you're sorry," Akihiko interrupted, sensing what was coming. Misaki faltered, and he went on. "It was no trouble- Any of this."

For a moment, Misaki looked like he wanted to protest. But instead, he lowered his eyes again (was it Akihiko, or had his face turned a shade darker?) and fiddled with the hem of his jacket.

"Right," he said, "But still- thank you."

For the first since that night last September, Akihiko looked at Misaki and felt something other than that awful, throbbing ache in his chest. As the two of them stood and faced each other, something inside the author fluttered. Misaki wouldn't quite meet his gaze, but there was no mistaking the gratitude in those shifty, green eyes.

"You know, for driving me," he said, mumbling a little. "And, uh… Yeah. Thanks."

He coughed. Staring for a second, Akihiko slipped his hands inside the pockets of his smart trousers.

"No problem."

A short pause, and their eyes met and looked away again. They hesitated. It was almost as if they were both searching for an excuse to linger a little longer.

Finally, Misaki broke the silence.

"Well… see you then."

Akihiko nodded. "Goodbye, Misaki."

"Bye."

The older man watched him cross the waiting room and disappear through the door. Only then did Akihiko let out the long, heavy sigh he'd been holding. He felt both weighed down and elevated at the same time.

On the one hand, he was more relieved than he'd ever been in his life. Takahiro was _alive_. He was going to be okay. Misaki was going to be okay. And Misaki…

Turning around, Akihiko picked up his tie from where he'd left it on the chair. It was so strange: Misaki, whom he had hurt, lied to, damaged, who had sworn he never wanted to see Akihiko again, had _thanked_ him. He called him Usagi-san. He didn't hate him anymore… At least, that was what it felt like; they weren't quite _friends_ , but the boy no longer seemed to despise him.

Akihiko glanced at the door again. He was probably by Takahiro's side by now, reuniting with his brother, thanking the Gods for his salvation.

 _He must be so happy…_ Akihiko was glad. He was glad that fate had for once been kind to his beloved. He was glad Misaki had made peace with him.

And yet…

The novelist looked down at his hand. Slowly, his fingers closed around the silk garment.

He wanted more from that man. Much, much more. But to Akihiko- who had thought he'd be nothing but Misaki's enemy for the rest of his life- for his love to even tolerate his presence like he had today was a blessing.

* * *

High-pitched howls became audible as Misaki hurried along the corridor, growing louder the closer to Takahiro's room he came. When he found and opened the door, he saw Manami in a chair beside the bed. In her lap was a squirming, crying Mahiro.

"Misaki-kun!" she exclaimed when she saw him, only for Mahiro to immediately distract her again by trying to wrench himself out of her grasp and onto the hospital bed.

"Papa!" he wailed, making little grabbing motions with his tiny hands. Tears and snot were streaming down the poor child's face, no matter how hard Manami tried to console him.

"Papa's just got to sleep for a while now, Mahiro, but he'll be alright," said Manami desperately, bouncing the struggling child on her knee but to no avail. She, too, looked exhausted; her chestnut hair was dishevelled, and her eyes looked red and sore.

"Would you like me to take him, Nee-chan?" Misaki offered. Poor Manami; she must have had to look after Mahiro all night.

His sister-in-law looked at him for a second before responding, as if his voice had been delayed on the way to her ears. She really was exhausted…

"If you wouldn't mind- thank you, Misaki-kun," she said, gratefully handing the sobbing toddler over.

As soon as Misaki had a hold of him, Mahiro started writhing and twisting in his arms, still reaching for the bed.

"Papa! _Papa!_ "

"Shh, Mahiro," Misaki soothed, stroking the child's feathery, black hair. "You have to be nice and quiet if you want to see Papa, okay?"

Still grizzling, Mahiro nodded. While Manami dragged herself closer to the bed in her chair, Misaki pulled up another one with his ankle and sat with Mahiro in his lap. Then he peered- half-dreading what he'd see- over his nephew's head.

There was his brother, lying almost motionless in the bed. The sheets were pulled up to his chest, which was bare and covered with a patchwork of large, square bandages. A sling held up his leg; it was encased, toe to thigh, in a plaster cast.

 _Nii-chan…_

"Papa…" said Mahiro mournfully. The sight of him was hurting Misaki, too, but he gave his nephew a comforting squeeze.

"Don't worry, little buddy," he said, "He's safe now."

"Oh, Taka-chan…" Manami sounded close to tears as she leaned over the bed. Her fingers brushed delicately over her husband's bruised cheek. "My poor baby."

She kissed him on the forehead. Then on the cheek. Then on the forehead again, and again. Misaki saw a tear slip down his brother's face and onto the pillow. Having quietened a little, Mahiro stretched out his arms towards his father again, and Misaki shifted forwards until Takahiro was within reach. A gentle, starfish hand rested against his cheek and stayed there, covering the mottled bruise.

Seeing her son, Manami leaned forwards over Takahiro's body and gave him a kiss, too. Her eyes then found Misaki.

"I was…" She released a shuddering breath. "I was so scared, Misaki-kun…"

"I know. I was, too."

"I kept thinking about what was going to happen if we lost him- Where Mahiro and I would go, and how he'd live without his papa…" She sniffled. "When they were operating on him, the whole time I just wanted to run in there and tell him- tell him I loved him, before…"

More tears had started dripping down her pale cheeks. Mahiro's distress grew even more when he noticed.

"Mama!"

Misaki couldn't see his face, but it made Manami smile tearfully. She reached across the bed. "Come here, sweetie."

His uncle passed him over, and Manami held him against her chest. "It's all okay now," she whispered. "Papa's going to be just fine."

"Jus' fine," Mahiro repeated, sucking on his thumb.

"Just fine," said Misaki. He laughed quietly. "God, I'm so glad he pulled through…"

Holding Mahiro with one arm, Manami took one of Takahiro's hands in her own. "Of course he did. He's so strong, our Takahiro…"

Looking down at the bed, Misaki studied his brother's sleeping face. As well as the bruise, he had another wide, cotton bandage on his forehead, and there was a plastic thing under his nose with tubes coming out of it. He looked peaceful.

"Yeah…" said Misaki. "Yeah, he is."

For a long while, the three of them sat in silence around the hospital bed, looking at the man who had done so much, meant so much to them all.

 _Thank you… Thank you, for letting him live._

He knew his Nee-chan was thinking the same thing. After what seemed like hours, she finally stirred.

"I suppose I should be getting home…"

Looking up, Misaki tilted his head; he hadn't expected that. "Already?"

"I want to stay," she said, still holding Takahiro's hand. Her hazel eyes wandered down to her husband again. "I really do, but Mahiro really needs to sleep. And, well… I think I can rest easy now that I know he's okay."

Before she stood, she lifted the hand she was holding and kissed it. Then she stooped and kissed Takahiro's forehead yet again, and held out Mahiro so he could do the same.

"Do you need a ride home, Misaki-kun?" she asked as she straightened.

He shook his head. "No thanks, Nee-chan. I'm gonna stay here."

"Alright." With a smile, she moved around the bed towards Misaki, who stood up. They hugged tightly (Mahiro was sandwiched between them, but he didn't seem to mind), and when they pulled back, they both had tears in their eyes.

"See you soon, then," Manami said, pinching his cheek. She hitched up the infant in her arms. "Say bye-bye to papa, Mahiro."

Mahiro didn't look at all pleased, but he waved- albeit rather dolefully- at his sleeping father. "Bye-bye, papa." Then he turned to his uncle. "Bye-bye, Mitaki."

They waved, and then they left, and Misaki was on his own with his brother. He looked at Takahiro for a little longer, inching closer to his side.

 _He looks weird without his glasses,_ Misaki mused, taking Takahiro's hand. The moon had risen, shining in through the window and making him look paler than ever. There was a rubber tube sticking out of his wrist, and Misaki's eyes followed it to an IV drip just behind him. Above the bed, also, was a heart monitor, beeping at a slow, steady pace. It was a reassuring sound.

Beep. _He's alive._ Beep. _He's okay_. Beep. _He's going to wake up._

Now that his terror had subsided, Misaki could suddenly feel the full extent of his exhaustion; worrying about his brother all day had really worn him out. Propping himself up against the wall, Misaki allowed his weary eyes to close, and for a long while he simply sat there and basked in his relief.

He was so grateful… _So_ grateful.

Manami's words came to mind again: _He's so strong, our Takahiro._ Opening his eyes once more, Misaki used his free hand to smooth his brother's hair back off his forehead, careful of the fresh bandage.

"She's right," he said. A dozen memories of his childhood flooded his mind all of a sudden; building snowmen with Takahiro in the winter, going out for ice-cream when it was sunny, riding on his shoulders and playing catch and watching movies. He remembered the stormy nights that made him think of his parents, and the way Takahiro would hold him tightly and rub his back while he sat on his lap and sniffled. He sniffled once or twice now, squeezing his brother's hand a little too tightly.

"You are so strong, Nii-chan," he whispered. "Whatever life throws at you, you always make it through- and you do it with a smile, too."

It was one of the things he'd always loved and admired about his brother. Bringing his other hand to cup Takahiro's, he went on.

"I'm so lucky to have grown up with that- to have had you to help me live a happy life, even after everything that happened to us," he said. "And Manami is lucky too, and so is Mahiro. We're all so lucky we still have you, Nii-chan, and we love you so much."

His voice caught in his throat, and he had to pause for a second. The heart monitor kept on beeping, as if to encourage Misaki to continue.

"But you gave us all a scare today," said the younger brother eventually. "And whether you can hear me or not, Nii-chan, you have got to promise me that you'll never, ever get hurt like this again."

After the nightmare of today, Misaki hoped he wouldn't ever have to relive it.

"You have to stay safe, Nii-chan," he told him. He squeezed Takahiro's cold hand between his own two, trying to pass as much warmth and strength as he could to his injured brother. "Because we all need you."

Takahiro didn't stir, but Misaki liked to think that he'd heard him, somehow. The younger brother figured he should let him rest, but he didn't want to leave Takahiro alone, so he took off his jacket and folded it up as a pillow. As he nestled his head against the wall, however, he couldn't quite bring himself to close his eyes; they stayed half-open as Misaki held Takahiro's hand, watching the comforting rise and fall of his wounded chest.

 _What an insane day…_ It just showed, Misaki thought, that anything could be right around the corner. _First, Nii-chan gets hurt, and then Usagi-san-_

Usagi-san. Misaki had been so caught up in his relief that he'd almost forgotten about him. Now that his mind had cleared, however, the full realisation of what had happened today suddenly dawned on him. He remembered Usagi-san's hand on his knee… His low, gentle, voice…

Misaki's face began to heat up. He covered it with his hands. "Oh, God…"

His _ex-boyfriend_ had basically had to babysit him all day. How embarrassing.

Peeking through his fingers, Misaki checked on his brother; he was still sleeping soundly. Honestly, Misaki had been so concerned for him all day that he hadn't fully noticed the weirdness of his situation- especially given his last conversation with Usagi-san. Misaki had screamed at him, called him awful things, told him he never wanted to see him again… And yet, somehow, the two of them had ended up sitting side-by-side in the waiting room with barely a hint of hostility between them. Maybe it was because he was so worried about his brother… or maybe it was because Usagi-san had been so stupidly nice to Misaki that he couldn't be mad at him.

But _why_? Misaki started chewing his lower lip. Why in the hell would Usagi-san be so kind to him? He was supposed to be the bad guy- the lying, cheating jerk- but he'd undeniably gone out of his way for Misaki today.

 _I even snapped at him in the elevator this morning, and he still drove me here…_ Misaki sighed. He hadn't meant to. But seeing Usagi-san out of the blue after so long had jittered him, and then he went and gave Misaki that _look_ , that look he always used to give him, the one that made Misaki melt inside, and he'd just… lost it.

But Usagi-san still drove him here. And calmed him down. And paid for his food. And he hadn't even asked for anything in return.

"Dammit!" Misaki muttered, clutching his makeshift pillow to his chest. "Usagi-san isn't supposed to be that nice…"

The heart monitor went quiet for a second, and Misaki jolted, but it quickly started beeping again. Still, he checked Takahiro's chest was still moving before sitting back in his seat.

He supposed the main reason Usagi-san came was for Takahiro _…_ But that still didn't explain why he'd looked after Misaki with such devotion. And to top it off, the stupid rabbit had to go and say… that.

 _I care about you both, very much…_

He said 'both'… Screwing his eyes shut, Misaki rubbed his temples. Hearing that had really messed with his head. Usagi-san _must_ have just said it to make Misaki feel better, mustn't he? After all, he loved Takahiro, not Misaki. That was why Misaki left him in the first place; he couldn't forget that.

 _But, what if…?_

The boy stilled. For a moment or two, the only breaths in the room were Takahiro's.

 _What if he really did… love me?_

He thought of Usagi-san's face in the elevator.

 _What if he loved me, and I gave him up?_

Misaki's cheeks suddenly felt warmer than ever. Furiously, he shook his head.

"Don't be ridiculous, Misaki!" he scolded himself. "He's a liar and a creep! Why are you getting all doubtful just 'cause he bought you a sandwich today?!"

There was a gust of wind outside the darkened room. Hugging his jacket like a teddy-bear, Misaki found himself slowly lowering his head.

Usagi-san might have been a liar, but… He wasn't all bad. Misaki's memory took him to that cloudy, September night last year, when he'd walked away from Usagi-san. He remembered the accusations, the abuse, the anger…

"He didn't deserve that…" he said softly into the darkness. Misaki's fears had been confirmed; he really was too hard on Usagi-san. He'd been just as much of a jerk as him.

Suddenly, Misaki tipped his head back and let out a loud, frustrated groan.

"I'm so confused, Nii-chan," he said. Usagi-san was his ex-boyfriend. He was supposed to hate him, but he simply couldn't- not anymore. Part of him wished Usagi-san had just been a total ass to him today… it would have made things easier.

With a weary exhale, he wedged his folded jacket between his head and the wall again. Sleepiness was starting to catch up to him; his head was light and dizzy, his limbs like lead.

"At least we…" He yawned. "At least we sort of made up today…"

Usagi-san wasn't his friend, but he wasn't his enemy any more, either. They'd put their past behind them and moved on separately. Perhaps… that made everything okay now?

For some reason, Misaki felt strangely dissatisfied, but he quickly forgot about that when his eyelids began to droop. He played with his brother's fingers absent-mindedly.

"At the end of the day… the most important thing is that you're safe, Nii-chan…" he murmured. Snuggling into his jacket, he managed one brief look out of the window before his eyes closed, and he noticed that the rain had finally stopped. The dark clouds were just beginning to clear. At last, Misaki felt what was left of the day's tension slowly bleed from his body. Still connected to that hand he knew so well, he sat in silence by the bedside, letting the beeps of the heart monitor and Takahiro's even breaths lull him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

 **As _if_ I'd really kill off Taka-chan! :P**

 **I tried to make this as realistic as I could, although I have a feeling I'll get some complaints about Misaki being so stubborn. XD Whatever you thought of the chapter, please let me know in a review- constructive criticism is always appreciated.**

 **(Speaking of reviews, a big thank you to everyone who reviewed my last chapter; I worked extra hard on it, so it was really nice to hear back from you guys!)**

 **Unfortunately, the next chapter probably won't be up for a week or two, because I'm going to be back at school on Monday. *cries* Still, I hope you enjoyed this one and I'll see you guys next time! Any idea what will happen next? :D**


	22. Chapter 22

**Sorry for the long wait. I'm doing these little things called A-Levels, and they're eating up all of my time.**

* * *

The hospital room was comfortably warm, and Misaki, weary from the day's events, slept long and heavily. He was awoken, however, by multiple murmurs filling the room.

"Calm down, Takahashi-san, everything's fine…"

"Please, sir, don't try to move too much or you'll tear your stitches."

Stirring, he rubbed his eyes. His fingers curled, and he suddenly noticed the absence of his brother's hand in his. Jolting upright in his chair, Misaki squinted through the morning brightness and saw that there were several doctors and nurses clustered around Takahiro's bed. They were all fussing and fiddling around with the apparatus. An unpleasant odour stuffed itself up Misaki's nostrils: beneath the antiseptic haze was the sour tang of sweat, mingling with something metallic- Blood. Unmistakably blood.

A fresh stab of panic shot through the boy, but one nurse- seeing that he was up- smiled soothingly at him.

"He's awake," she told him, adjusting the IV drip. "The doctor's just making sure he's okay."

Only then did Misaki realise that the heart monitor was still beeping away reassuringly. Releasing a breath, he nodded. He couldn't see the bed behind the barrier of blue uniforms and white coats, but he could hear one of the doctors talking.

"Takahashi-san, can you hear me? Can you speak?"

The voice that replied was so low and hoarse that Misaki barely recognised it. "What… Where am I?"

While another nurse explained that he was in Sanno hospital, the doctor started asking Takahiro trivial questions about himself: where did he live, how old was he, what was his favourite food? Craning his neck, Misaki tried to catch a glimpse of his brother, but to no avail.

"Is he okay?"

"He freaked out a little when he woke up, but we've managed to calm him down now," the same nurse explained. "There was some mild head trauma when he was brought in, so we're checking for any memory impairment."

The phrases 'head trauma' and 'memory impairment' sent Misaki into a cold sweat, but from what he could hear, Takahiro managed to answer each question he was asked without much difficulty.

"Are you married, Takahashi-san?" asked one of the many nurses. "Any kids?"

"Mm… Wife… and a son."

"How old's your son?"

"Two next week."

"What's his name?"

"Mahiro…" A noise came from the bed; it sounded halfway between a cough and grunt. "Where is he? And Manami?"

Satisfied that Takahiro hadn't lost his memory, the doctor noted something down on the clipboard she was holding. "On their way, Takahashi-san. I'm sure they'll be glad to hear that you're awake and responding well."

Takahiro coughed again. "Were they worried?" he asked in a slightly less gravelly voice.

"Incredibly so," said the doctor, and glanced over her shoulder at the chair. "And so was this one- he's been here all night."

As she spoke, she waved a couple of nurses away. A gap finally opened up in the cluster of bodies, and Misaki found himself staring at the bruised, worn, but very much awake face of his older brother.

Upon seeing Misaki, Takahiro froze, and his lips parted ever so slightly. The boy held his breath.

At her patient's silence, the doctor asked, "You do know who this is, don't you?"

Violet eyes sparkled, and on Takahiro's face appeared the weakest of smiles.

"That's my baby brother."

Misaki smiled back.

* * *

Once Takahiro had been checked over, and the doctor was sure there was no long-term damage, she and the other nurses left to give the patient some breathing room. Misaki (after a bit of persuasion) was given permission to stay. As soon as they were alone again, Takahiro's gaze wandered over to him, and they looked at each other in silence for a while.

Misaki scooted his chair closer to the bed. "How are you feeling?" he said softly.

Bare shoulders shifted in a feeble shrug. "Like shit."

If it weren't for his brother's punctured chest, his sliced forehead, his broken leg, Misaki might have giggled; Takahiro almost never cursed.

"Do you remember anything?" he asked instead.

Stiffly, Takahiro nodded. As he looked away at the ceiling, his eyes glazed over, and Misaki could almost see the haunting recollections flashing in those violet irises.

"I remember… driving in the rain. And losing control of the car," he murmured. "I don't remember the pain, but I remember not being able to move. Hearing the tires, and the crash. And… I remember seeing all these people, and bright lights, and blood…"

Misaki shivered in his seat, but Takahiro went on. "I remember feeling scared. Trapped. And I…"

His voice started to waver. Until now, Takahiro had been staring into space- seeming almost to be talking to himself- but then he turned his head back towards his brother. Misaki could see how large and frightened his eyes were.

"I thought I was going to die in there, Misaki," he said, in no more than a broken whimper. Takahiro swallowed. "I… I thought it was going to be mom and dad all over again."

A lump was forming in Misaki's own throat, but he patted his brother's hand bravely. "I thought so too, Nii-chan," he told him, "But it's okay. You're okay now."

For a moment, Takahiro was silent. Then he suddenly stirred. There was a creak of springs and a rustling of sheets as he pushed himself off the mattress with wobbling arms. Realising he wanted to sit up, Misaki carefully eased his brother upright, mindful of the bandages on his chest.

Once he was sitting, Takahiro released a sigh from the strain, and his head drooped. Now that it was light, Misaki could see the glisten of sweat on Takahiro's pallid face; the cuts and deep, purple bruises; the web of blood vessels riddling his troubled eyes.

"I was so afraid- not just for myself, but for Manami and Mahiro. I didn't want to leave Manami alone, and I didn't want Mahiro to grow up without a dad like we did…"

His voice was rising in pitch. With nothing he could say, Misaki only nodded, squeezed his brother's hand and waited for him to continue.

Takahiro sniffed. When he looked at Misaki again, moisture was threatening to spill over his eyelids.

"And I kept thinking, Misaki… that my biggest regret…" A single teardrop rolled down Takahiro's cheek. "Would be that time on the phone, when I didn't tell you I l-loved you, too…"

More tears dripped down his face. Watching his injured brother cry there in front of him, Misaki felt his jaw drop. His own eyes were also starting to fill.

"Oh, Nii-chan…"

Simultaneously, they reached for each other. Misaki hugged his brother as tightly as he could without hurting him, whilst Takahiro's fingers dug into his sides. He smelled strongly of sweat and blood, but Misaki didn't care. A flower of warmth bloomed in his chest and stayed there, even as hot, salty droplets began soaking through his shirt.

"Don't cry," he choked out, patting the head of greasy, black hair on his shoulder. "You'll set me off, too."

Takahiro only held him tighter. "I'm so sorry, Misaki," he wept, muffled. "I've been such a jerk. I f-feel like I've failed you as a brother…"

"What?" Frowning, Misaki pulled away, holding the other at arm's length. "No. Nii-chan, you mustn't think that."

Twin streams of tears were now running down Takahiro's cheeks. He almost looked like a little kid; it was times like these when Misaki felt like _he_ was the older brother, not the other way around.

"I sh-shouldn't have abandoned you…" he said between hiccups. "Wh-what if I'd _died_ yesterday? The last m-memory I'd have had of you would've been that phone call…"

"You _didn't_ abandon me." Carefully, Misaki rubbed Takahiro's shoulders. "You were just mad, and you had every right to be."

Honestly, he was surprised by his brother's actions; Misaki was the one who had lied, and Takahiro was apologising to him?

He wiped his eyes on the clean, white sheets. "That's not an excuse for the way I acted…"

"Nii-chan-"

"At Christmas, too… You must have been so _lonely_ …"

"Nii-chan, we shouldn't talk about this now," said Misaki, cutting in before Takahiro could sink into a full-on gloom. "You just woke up."

But the elder brother shook his head. "No. You're my little brother- I was supposed to always be there for you, but I-"

"So we had a disagreement." Shrugging, Misaki spread his hands as if to say 'so what?' He understood why Takahiro felt guilty, but the two of them getting upset would just spoil their reunion. "It's my fault, too- I lied and kept secrets from you," he pointed out.

A sniff or two came from Takahiro, and he massaged his temples. Sensing his discomfort, Misaki propped a couple of pillows against the headboard so Takahiro could lean back. He exhaled as he did so.

"Mm… I know. But still, I think I overreacted."

"Well, I don't blame you," Misaki replied. "Suddenly hearing about me, and Usagi-san… It was a lot to take in."

His brother nodded, but in the sunlight, Misaki caught Takahiro's jaw muscle tighten at the mention of his ex-best friend. Swallowing, Misaki rubbed the back of his neck and cautiously added, "And I know how you feel about… About, guys liking other guys…"

At this, Takahiro lifted his drooping head and blinked. When he saw the prominent shame in Misaki's expression, he frowned.

"Oh, Misaki…" A tender hand rested on the younger's chocolate mop. "It doesn't matter that you like guys."

It almost sounded convincing- almost. Misaki smiled wryly. "You don't mean that, do you?"

Heavily, Takahiro sighed. "Well, okay," he said, albeit slightly uncomfortably. "I'd prefer it if things were more… straightforward. Of course I would. But... Well, I've been thinking about this a lot since you told me, and I realised what's most important to me, Misaki, is that you're happy," he said, looking his brother solemnly in the eyes.

For a second or two, Misaki was speechless; for his entire childhood, Takahiro had only told him one thing about people being gay, and that was that it was _wrong_. What was with this sudden change of heart? Had Takahiro's near-death-experience led to some sort of epiphany?

 _Maybe Nee-chan also had something to do with it..._

"But…" Misaki bit his lip, blushing. "Aren't you against homosexuals, Nii-chan?"

Takahiro looked conflicted as he struggled for an answer.

"I don't really know anymore," he eventually managed, and ran his fingers through his unwashed hair. "Look, Misaki, it'll probably take me a while to get my head around it, and it's going to be hard, but I want you to know that you don't have to worry. You're still my little brother, and I will always, always love you."

Happiness tingled through the young man. Those words… What wonderful words they were. For months, that had been all Misaki wanted to hear from his brother. He felt his lips part in a beaming smile; Takahiro, on the other hand, was looking remorseful.

"I should have known that right at the start…" he said. He suddenly gave his brother an imploring look, as if he were desperate for Misaki to believe him.

"The thing is, Misaki, when I heard that my brother and my best friend were… And for so long…" he tried to explain, tripping over his words, "It was just so sudden, and such a shock, that I just freaked out, and then I-"

"I _know_ ," Misaki interrupted, holding up his hands in a calming gesture. His voice became quiet and gentle. "I know what it must have felt like. I don't blame you at all for what you did."

Takahiro sniffed. His lower lip trembled. "You don't?"

"No." Misaki shook his head, smiling kindly. "Really, Nii-chan, it's okay- I'm just glad we're friends again."

Upon hearing this, Takahiro- in his usual fashion- burst into a flood of tears and threw his arms around the startled Misaki. He sobbed and hiccupped messily into the younger's shirt front, chest and shoulders shaking so violently that Misaki feared his stitches would burst.

"Misakiii!" he blubbered, holding him tight. "You're the best little brother in the world! I don't deserve you!"

"Nii-chan, you'll hurt yourself…"

Alarmed, Misaki patted his brother's bare back in the hopes of consoling him. At that moment, however, the door flew open and there was a shriek of delight.

" _Papa!"_

Tiny footsteps scampered across the floor. Straightening up, Takahiro let out an _'oof!'_ as the overjoyed toddler collided with his stomach.

"Mahiro, be careful!" cried Manami, hurrying after him. Misaki giggled as the little boy clambered onto the bed and into his father's lap. They hugged tightly, and Takahiro buried his face in his son's hair. Manami was soon rushing to join them; she and her husband kissed ardently, and the small hospital room was filled with relieved, joyous laughter.

Misaki shuffled backwards in his chair, giving them some space. He watched the embracing family happily. They were completely ignoring him, but he didn't mind; they deserved to have this moment in peace.

Turning to the window, Misaki rested his elbow on the sill, gazing out over the hospital grounds. It was a perfect day; warm, golden rays- unobstructed by clouds- made the grass below look even greener, and colourful flowers were swaying in a gentle breeze that carried their scent up to the window. A pair of birds flew by, twittering. Looking up into the bright, blue sky, Misaki imagined his dear mother and father up there, smiling down upon their children.

Maybe they would have liked to see Takahiro again. But Misaki knew his parents would be happy that, for the time being, their eldest son would be staying on earth with his family- and also that the bond between the brothers had endured.

* * *

 **Apologies for the sappiness near the end there. But hey, at least it's a chapter with a happy ending for once. XD**

 **I hope you guys enjoyed that, although it wasn't very long. I'm really sorry to say this, but when my actual exams start (which is quite soon), I might have to put this on hiatus for a few weeks. I promise I will try and update whenever I can, though, and once my A-Levels are finished I'll have plenty of time to write. I've had a few ideas recently that I think will make the future chapters a lot more interesting... ;)**

 **Anyway, I'll try and have at least one more chapter up before I put the story on hold. Thank you for reading and please review! :3**


	23. Chapter 23

**Thank you very much to everyone who reviewed the previous chapter. They were so motivating and encouraging, and I really needed them at the time.**

 **So, I said I'd try and do one last chapter before I put this on hiatus. But it got too long once again, so I get to post two before I have to knuckle down and revise. Yay!**

 **I hope both chapters will be worth the wait that'll come afterwards. I was reading through some of the old ones, and I kept coming across little errors that really bugged me. So, if you guys happen to spot any- even if it's just the teeniest, tiniest little typo- please let me known in a review so I can fix it. :)**

* * *

Getting up for work was ten times easier for Misaki the following day, knowing that his brother was safe and part of his life again.

After the emotional reunion at the hospital- when eyes were dried and arms exhausted from hugs- the Takahashis had spent the entire day just talking and talking, filling in all the gaps. In the few weeks he and Takahiro had lost touch, Misaki felt like he'd missed an entire year's worth of news.

 _I finally got to tell Nii-chan all about my new job,_ Misaki recalled with satisfaction, grinning at himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. Even Takahiro, who wasn't a huge fan of manga, had heard of _Japun_ , and the impressed look on his face when he learned that his brother now worked on the magazine had put Misaki on cloud nine.

All he ever wanted was to make Takahiro proud, after all.

Once Takahiro was discharged from the hospital (the doctor had said it would take a couple of weeks, if they were lucky) he, Manami and Mahiro planned to pay Misaki a visit; they'd never seen his new apartment. Misaki could hardly wait! He'd so missed spending time together as a whole family…

 _I should really clean this place up beforehand, though,_ he thought to himself as he exited the tiny bathroom. The living room, in particular, was a complete mess. Misaki didn't have a proper desk yet, so he tended to do all of his work on the couch; his shabby, second-hand coffee table was groaning with all kinds of documents, and to Misaki- a neat freak by nature- it was getting increasingly perturbing.

Also in dire need of improvement was the contents of Misaki's fridge, he noted as he went to find something for breakfast. His workload as a _Japun_ editor was so heavy these days that he scarcely had time to _eat_ , let alone cook. Instead, he'd been living on a diet of microwave meals from the convenience store; there was hardly anything of nutritional value in his entire kitchen. Making himself a cup of tea, Misaki scanned the shelves disapprovingly as he tried to cobble together a decent breakfast.

"Eating junk and not cleaning up after myself…" he mused, munching on some slightly stale toast. "I'm turning into Usagi-san."

Grimacing, he stopped mid-chew.

 _Why_ did he keep thinking about Usagi-san?

The young editor let out a frustrated sigh. He'd been so close to getting that stupid rabbit out of his head for good, but ever since the hospital incident a few days ago, he kept popping back into Misaki's mind without warning. It was driving him nuts.

 _It's probably just guilt. He really helped me out, and I just left him there at the hospital._

That had to be it. Maybe if he did something to show his thanks, he'd stop worrying about it so much. Send Usagi-san a gift, maybe?

Doubtfully, Misaki frowned. _Wouldn't that be weird, though?_ People didn't send gifts to their exes.

 _They don't hang out in waiting rooms and blubber like a baby with them, either._

The tea soured in Misaki's stomach. Suddenly not very hungry, he tossed what was left of his toast in the trash and hastily went to grab his jacket and briefcase. He didn't have time to fret; today was Hashimoto-sensei's deadline, and Misaki had to be at her house by eight to pick up the manuscript.

A fraction of a second before his hand reached the doorknob, however, the house phone rang. Irritated, Misaki grabbed it without checking the caller ID.

"Yes?"

"Takahashi? It's me."

"Oh, Kirishima-san!" said Misaki, his harassed tone softening instantly upon hearing his boss. "I was just on my way to Hashimoto-sensei's."

"Ah, that's what I'm calling about," the chief editor replied. "Don't go to Hashimoto's place. I already sent Shizuku to pick up the manuscript."

"Huh?" Confused, Misaki scratched his head. "How come? Didn't you know I was coming back to work today?" He'd sent an e-mail from the hospital…

"Yeah, I got your message. You see, um…" On the other end, Kirishima-san cleared his throat. "How do I put this? You're not Hashimoto's editor anymore, Takahashi."

Misaki's heart froze.

"I-I don't understand…"

He wasn't being fired, was he?! His boss sounded very apologetic. "I know this is very sudden, but due to certain… circumstances, I've decided to give Shizuku your position."

What did he mean, 'certain circumstances'? Misaki felt his heartrate double. Were they kicking him off _Japun_? But he was doing such a good job… Or, so Kirishima-san said. Was this because he'd skipped work for the past two days?

 _But I had to go! It wasn't my fault…_ Gulping, Misaki began hastily speaking into the phone.

"Kirishima-san, if this is because I ditched work, I'm really sorry! I know we were on a tight schedule and I didn't give you any notice, but my brother-"

"Woah, Takahashi, calm down," said Kirishima-san. "I know it was an emergency. It's fine- Don't worry about it."

Misaki's brow creased. "Then, why can't I work on _Japun_ anymore?" he asked, trying to keep the wobble out of his voice.

"What?"

There was a brief pause, before Kirishima-san suddenly laughed into the phone. "Oh no, I'm not kicking you off the magazine, Takahashi. What I meant is that you and Shizuku are switching places, that's all."

He and Shizuku… switching places? "Wait, what?"

Another laugh; his boss was obviously very amused. "I've made Shizuku Hashimoto's editor so _you_ can work with me on _The Kan_ ," he explained. "I'm not firing you or anything- Why would I do that?"

"Oh, I see…" Misaki sighed with relief- and then jolted upright.

"Wait. Y-you mean…" He gripped the phone harder, heart pounding in his chest. " _I'm_ going to be Ijuuin-sensei's sub-editor?!"

"That's right."

 _No way!_ Misaki had to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from squealing. His inner fanboy was going wild, jumping up and down like Mahiro after too much sugar. He was going to be a part of _The Kan_! His favourite manga! This was amazing. It was incredible. It was-

A thought struck him.

"U-um, that's awesome, Kirishima-san, but… why?"

The chief editor hesitated. "Well, between you and me…" he said, and sighed. "I never thought I'd say this, but according to Kyo, Shizuku's been doing a really poor job as sub-editor."

"Oh?" said Misaki. "I thought he was doing really well with _The Kan_."

"He was, at first. But lately, he seems to have hit a major stumbling block. Kyo says he's been losing manuscripts, screwing up their composition, missing meetings… Not to mention, he let slip some really important info about the movie."

Remembering the interaction between Kirishima and the guy from sales, Misaki frowned. He never imagined Shizuku of all people would be so careless… "Really, sir? Everyone said he was such a talented editor…"

"Oh, he is," said his boss sadly. "I just don't know what happened. He seemed like such a promising addition to the team, but I guess the pressure just got to be too much for him…

"Anyway," he said, "One of the reasons Shizuku worked well with Kyo and I at first is because he's been a fan of _The Kan_ for a long time- he knows the characters and the story well enough to make some really good contributions.

"I know that you're a big fan, too, Takahashi," he went on, "And you've really been doing a great job so far. So, now that Shizuku doesn't seem to be working out, we figured you were the best replacement."

All Misaki could manage was, "Oh…"

"I was going to tell you the other day, but you left for the hospital before I had the chance. I know you're still new and this is a lot to ask of you, but…"

"No, no, it's fine," said Misaki quickly. He bit his lip. "Don't get me wrong, sir- I'm really, really happy to get this offer, it's just… Are you sure you want _me_ to replace Shizuku?"

"Absolutely. You know the manga, you get along with Kyo, and you've got a real aptitude for editing," Kirishima-san praised him. "Of all the _Japun_ editors, I think you're the best option by far."

Excitement began bubbling up inside Misaki. A blush rose to his cheeks. "Th-thank you, sir!"

"Don't thank me yet," said his boss, chuckling. "I'm afraid this means you're going to have a _lot_ of work to do from now on, Takahashi. Think you can handle it?"

Though he knew Kirishima-san couldn't see him, Misaki nodded. "Sure! I don't mind at all!"

"No, I didn't think you would. I'll see you at the office in fifteen, then?"

A smile spread across Misaki's face. "Yes, sir!"

* * *

Spirits soaring, the newly appointed sub-editor dashed out of the train station and into the spring sunshine. Pink petals kissed his cheeks as they fluttered by, and the air was perfumed with the sweet fragrance of cherry blossoms. Misaki breathed it in deeply. He felt just as he had on his first day at Mitsuhashi; full of passion and optimism for the future. The young man ran a little faster.

Things were _finally_ looking up.

 _I'm gonna work on_ The Kan _! Me! This is a dream come true!_

Misaki could hardly believe his luck. To be given a spot in _Japun_ had been miraculous enough as it was, but an offer to work with Misaki's childhood hero? The young man felt as though he could sprout wings and fly all the way to work. This was the coolest thing that had ever happened to him!

As he rounded a corner, the tall, red brick office block came into view, and he headed eagerly towards it, grinning.

 _I wonder what kind of work I'll be doing with sensei and Kirishima-san today… I'd better hurry to the-_

Misaki stumbled to a halt.

There, standing outside the door to the building, was Shizuku. His arms were crossed as he leaned against the wall, and he was staring straight at Misaki.

The smile on the young man's face froze. Shizuku's dark grey hood was up, giving him an air of menace as he regarded Misaki silently. Feebly, the other offered him a wave.

"Uh, g-good morning."

Unsurprisingly, Shizuku didn't smile or wave back.

"You're in a hurry," he said instead. "Can't wait to get in there so you can suck up to Ijuuin-sensei even more, huh?" His tone was positively dripping with resentment.

"Shizuku…" Fingers tensing around the handle of his briefcase, Misaki gave an apologetic shrug. "I'm sorry we had to switch places, but it was Kirishima-san's decision. It's not my fault."

For a moment, Shizuku didn't answer. Then, slowly, he pushed away from the wall and sauntered towards the other editor. Misaki shivered; the other reminded him of a shark circling its prey.

"Of course it's not," he said, coming to a stop in front of Misaki. In a rather sardonic fashion, he angled his head to the side without taking his eyes off the younger. "Ever the innocent bystander, aren't you, Takahashi?"

Misaki blinked. "What…?"

Suddenly, Shizuku was in his face, dark eyes narrowed contemptuously. Misaki's widened.

"You listen to me," he ordered the bewildered boy. "You might have everyone else fooled, but I've got you figured out. You and I both know that the only reason I've been replaced is because of your little tricks!"

 _Tricks…?_ Swallowing, Misaki tried to subtly glance at the doorway behind them. If someone could just pass by, maybe they'd rescue him… Aggression and anger was rolling off Shizuku in waves, and Misaki felt his legs begin to tremble ever so slightly, fighting the urge to run.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about…"

The older man scoffed. "Oh, please," he said, sounding furious. "Did you think I didn't notice when all those important documents mysteriously vanished from my desk? Or when the edits I spent so much time making to sensei's manuscripts suddenly changed? Did you think I'd just write it off as an honest mistake when I was given the wrong date for my meeting three times in a row?"

As Misaki's mouth fell open in surprise, Shizuku straightened up to his full height. He had a good few inches on Misaki. The shadow from his hood shaded the upper half of his face, accentuating the dangerous glint of his eyes.

"I'm not an idiot," he said as he glared down at his replacement. "I _know_ it was your doing."

The sun was starting to feel very hot on the back of Misaki's neck. His mouth was dry, but he held Shizuku's stare and said as sincerely as he could, "I'd never do anything like that."

"Cut the crap, Takahashi," Shizuku snarled. "You purposely sabotaged my position as Ijuuin-sensei's editor so you could take it for yourself." His brows knitted together as he pursed his lips. "But you're not going to get away with it."

"But I-"

"You're an _amateur_ ," Shizuku cut across. "You would never have even made it as an editor if it weren't for sensei. I should be the one working with him, not you! You're nowhere near good enough for my job!"

Misaki paled, and his pupils contracted; the other editor was practically seething, and for a moment he thought he might actually get punched. He flinched as Shizuku raised a hand (nearly throwing up his briefcase as a shield), but he only proceeded to jab a sharp forefinger into the younger man's chest, making him take a step backwards.

"As soon as I can prove what you did," said Shizuku, "I'm going to tell everyone. Then Kirishima-san, Ijuuin-sensei and everybody else will know what you're really like."

Abruptly, he spun on his heel and stalked away from the building. Unable to even protest, Misaki only gaped after Shizuku in astonishment, before the other looked over his shoulder and added one last thing.

"Enjoy your time here while it lasts."

Hearing that, Misaki felt a cold, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He lowered his head.

 _Poor Shizuku… He must be devastated. And there I was, too self-absorbed to even think about him…_

A chill wind blew by, scattering cherry blossoms. Misaki watched them swirling around his ankles; the blooming season was almost over, and the pink petals- beautiful from a distance- were turning brown around the edges. As the breeze died away and they fell, Misaki trudged towards the office, the case in his hand suddenly feeling a lot heavier.

What was he thinking? Dejected, Misaki pushed open the glass door with none of the energy he'd previously possessed that morning. Shizuku's words had sapped him; the other editor was absolutely right, after all. Misaki was a mere amateur, carried to his current position by good fortune and nothing else. Did he seriously think a star artist like Kyo Ijuuin was within his reach?

Of course not. Misaki didn't deserve this job. Shizuku did.

Stepping into the elevator, Misaki couldn't help but wonder if everything he'd just been told was true. Had someone really sabotaged Shizuku's position? He hadn't sounded like he was lying… But if he wasn't, who had stolen his things and changed his edits?

The elevator closed its doors with a _ding_ , sending Misaki upwards and his stomach in the opposite direction. He would never do something like that to Shizuku, but he couldn't think who else could have done it, either- or _would_ have done it.

 _Maybe he really was just making it up to incriminate me,_ he thought as he reached his floor.

Still, he simply didn't feel right about replacing Shizuku. Much as he wanted to work with Ijuuin… to take the offer would be plain selfish.


	24. Chapter 24

Misaki kept his head down as he made his way to the room where Kirishima-san said to meet him, ignoring all those people he usually smiled and waved to. When he arrived, the door opened to reveal a bright, reasonably big and tidy room with a large, square table in the centre of it. It was littered with freshly sketched _The Kan_ pages.

Kirishima-san was already inside, and so (unexpectedly) was Ijuuin; he and his main editor were sitting with their heads close together and muttering to each other. Both of their brows were furrowed in concentration, but upon Misaki's entry, they looked up from the manuscript in front of them and smiled.

"Takahashi, there you are!" Kirishima-san- a red marker pen tucked behind his ear- rose from the table and moved to greet his subordinate. "Thanks for coming on such short notice. Are you ready to start?"

They both looked so happy to see him… Misaki gulped, holding his case in front of him with both hands. "Um…"

"Is something wrong, Misaki?" asked Ijuuin, immediately sensing his discomfort. He'd put down his pencil and stood the moment Misaki appeared, too.

"Sensei, Kirishima-san…" Taking a deep breath, Misaki bowed. "Sorry, but I don't think I can take this job."

When he straightened up again, both of the others looked puzzled. Kirishima-san exchanged a glance with Ijuuin before turning back to Misaki. "What?"

"I'm honoured that you want me to work with you," said Misaki, keeping his head bent. "I really am, but I just don't think I'm the right person for the job."

When Misaki finally looked up, two pairs of concerned eyes were studying him closely. Normally, he'd be happy that the two people he looked up to so much were showing him such care, but now it made him feel guilty; he didn't deserve it.

Eventually, Kirishima-san broke the silence. "Takahashi, if I didn't think you could do it, I wouldn't have given you the position."

Behind him, Ijuuin nodded in agreement. Misaki shuffled his feet.

"Well, I know, but…"

"Where's this coming from, anyway?" Kirishima-san continued. He glanced at his watch. "You sounded so excited on the phone, and that was only, like, half an hour ago."

 _They're not buying it…_ The mangaka, in particular, had a worried, almost hurt expression on his face, and for a moment Misaki wavered. But then the memory of Shizuku's tear-filled eyes came to mind.

"It's not that I don't want to work with you and Ijuuin-sensei, sir," he said. "I was just thinking that, well, _The Kan_ is such a huge manga, and I'm still just a rookie editor…

"I'd probably just screw everything up, you know?" Awkwardly, he tried to laugh, but when both other men remained silent, Misaki stopped and looked up at his boss.

"Kirishima-san, don't you think Shizuku would do a better job than me?"

The instant the name was spoken, there was a flash of something in Ijuuin's perceptive eye. He folded his arms. "Ah. Shizuku said something to you, didn't he?"

He stepped closer to Misaki as he spoke, and any remaining ability to lie quickly left him under the mangaka's stare; it was hard and demanding, not like anything Misaki had seen from his idol before. He rubbed the back of his neck.

"S-sort of… But that's not the point," he hastily added. "I mean, he's way more experienced than I am, and even though he's had a few mishaps, he's clearly a better editor," Misaki reasoned. Ijuuin frowned, doubtful, and Misaki turned back to Kirishima-san. "Are you sure you couldn't give him another chance, sir?"

The chief editor let out a sigh. "Believe me, it wasn't easy breaking the news to him. He's such a hard worker, and he always seemed so fond of Kyo, too…" Scratching his golden-brown curls, he went on, "But like you said, Takahashi, _The Kan_ is our most popular manga, and with the way Shizuku's been performing, I just can't afford to keep letting him work on it- At this rate, he could end up damaging mine or Kyo's reputation," he added, making Misaki frown in thought.

Up until now, he'd really liked and admired his boss, but to reprimand Shizuku like this just seemed downright unfair (even if it _did_ put Misaki in a cushier spot)… He thought about reporting the person who'd tampered with Shizuku's manuscripts, but that was kind of useless if Misaki didn't even know who did it. Plus, he wasn't sure Shizuku was even telling the truth. So he held his tongue, deciding to go with gentle persuasion instead.

"I suppose so… But still, I'm not sure I'll be able to fill his shoes just yet. Maybe you'd be better off hiring a more experienced editor, Kirishima-san," he said, smiling. "I'll just stick with Hashimoto-sensei for now."

If he could just convince them, then Shizuku would get his job back, and Misaki's conscience would be clear. He looked hopefully up at the chief editor- but at that moment, a hand suddenly landed on his shoulder. He twisted.

Warm, blue eyes were looking down at him.

"Misaki," said Ijuuin firmly, "You'll be fine. Kirishima and I believe in you."

"That we do," said his boss. Wide-eyed, Misaki opened his mouth to protest, but Kirishima-san held up a hand to silence him. "And anyway, I'll give you all the help you need. Just do your best, and we'll see how things go, okay?"

Hesitantly, Misaki looked from one smiling face to the other. He _still_ didn't feel quite right about this… But how could he say no?

"O-okay, then…"

"Good." Satisfied, Kirishima-san went and grabbed a few papers from the table. Then, he skirted around the scattered chairs towards the door. "Now, I have to pay a quick visit to sales, but then we can get started."

The door closed. A little overwhelmed, Misaki set down his briefcase. He didn't know whether to feel ashamed or excited. It was settled; he, Misaki, was going to be a part of Ijuuin-sensei's weird food-manga-masterpiece…

Turning to face said man, Misaki was surprised to see that the smile had vanished from his face. Ijuuin- standing by the table- was propping himself up one hand in his usual manner, and the look he was giving Misaki now was inquisitive. Suspicious, even?

"What did he say to you?" he asked.

"Shizuku?" Trying not to falter, Misaki shrugged. "Nothing, really…"

Honestly, he didn't even know why he was bothering to lie; Ijuuin, like always, could see through him like a window. The mangaka inhaled through his nose and folded his arms across his expensive-looking shirt (his garb was different than usual, Misaki noticed; still casual, but less… careless). He took another few steps towards Misaki, stooping a little until their faces were level. His was stony.

"Whatever it was, you shouldn't be doubting yourself because of it."

So intense, those ocean-blue irises… Misaki couldn't make himself hold them. He looked at the carpet instead. "I-I'm not…"

"You are. I can see it in your face." After a moment, Ijuuin drew back a little; some uncertainty had crept onto his features. "You _do_ want to be my editor, don't you?"

"Ah, yes!" said Misaki, a tad too loudly. Embarrassed, he blushed and cleared his throat. "Of course I do, sensei, it's just…

"Shizuku's such a big fan of yours, and working with you clearly meant a lot to him. It's kind of harsh to give him the boot just because of a few mistakes, don't you think?"

Contrary to Misaki, Ijuuin looked neither convinced nor concerned about his previous sub-editor. "I suppose. But you heard Kirishima-san," he pointed out. "His performance just wasn't up to scratch."

 _Or was it?_

With a heavy sigh, Misaki walked over to the table and leaned back against it; Ijuuin's head followed him. "Yeah, I know. But still…"

As he turned his head to the side, Misaki could see the surface of the table out of the corner of his eye. He looked at the dozens of pages, at the countless drawings of all those beloved little characters that meant so much to so many people. And, although he had always called himself Ijuuin's number one fan, Misaki found himself wondering if anyone loved him- deserved to see these pages here, before anyone- more than Shizuku.

In the silence, eyes of the darkest brown appeared again in Misaki's mind. They were glistening with anger, and hurt, and injustice. "I feel really bad for him. This doesn't seem right."

He looked to the mangaka as he spoke. To Misaki's puzzlement, however, the corners of Ijuuin's mouth curled slowly upwards at his words.

 _Why is he smiling?_ Even more confusing was when the other man suddenly crossed the space between the two of them, reaching past Misaki to rest his hand on the table and leaning towards him. The editor could suddenly smell Ijuuin's cologne, feel his body heat- He was that close.

Misaki's heart picked up the pace. Why was he so near? A hand lifted itself towards the young, nervous face, and something in Misaki's chest gave a lurch as Ijuuin's lips came dangerously close to his own, parted in a silent gasp…

"Such a kind-hearted boy."

The younger blinked as Ijuuin drew back. Frozen in place against the table, Misaki could only watch as the mangaka walked back to his seat, still not looking away from him. His eyes were shining.

"I'm looking forward to us working together, Misaki."

He picked up a pencil and started drawing again. Long after Kirishima-san finally returned, Misaki's heart was still racing.

* * *

 **Though I would love to keep writing, I'm afraid this will be the last chapter for at least a month. Sorry if any of you find that annoying (I know it annoys me when a story I'm following doesn't update in ages), but I promise I'll get back to it as soon as I can.**

 **For now, I'd like to say thank you for reading as always. Also, this Saturday is my seventeenth birthday, and the best presents I could get are reviews! XD So yeah, please tell me what you think. I love hearing from you guys. :3**

 **See you after my exams! :)**


	25. Chapter 25

**Hello, fellow yaoi fans!**

 **So, my exams aren't completely over yet- I still have one more to go, but I've had a week off school to revise, and since it was only for one exam I had time to get another chapter done! Yaaay!**

 **Before you start reading, I should let you know that this is yet another chapter from Misaki's POV. It's just how the storyline has worked out DX I know you might be impatient to know what's going one with Usagi-san, but rest assured, a chapter from his POV is in the works and will be up next time!**

 **Anyway, here is chapter twenty-five at last. I do hope it's worth the long wait.**

* * *

 _"I'm sorry for wasting your time, Yuu," she said, glaring at the floor in bitter defeat. "You should just continue the investigation without me. I'm the worst partner ever."_

 _Yuu's mouth was set in a straight line as he reached forward, placing his hands on his partner's trembling shoulders. When she still wouldn't look at him, he took her by the chin and tilted her face upwards._

 _"Hitomi, you're brilliant." It was a quiet, matter-of-fact statement. "I wish you'd realise that."_

 _"But we finally had them, and I let them get away..."_

 _Shaking his head, the officer leaned closer. Hitomi's lips were soft and salted with tears._

 _"Everybody makes mistakes."_

* * *

That Misaki had actually gotten around to cleaning his apartment was a small mercy; he'd have died of embarrassment if Ijuuin saw how messy it was before. It was just like him, Misaki thought, to turn up so unexpectedly…

The mangaka was sitting beside him in the living room, long legs crossed at the ankles, holding one of Misaki's teacups loosely in one hand. He looked as though he'd lived there all his life.

 _I still can't believe he's here_ , Misaki thought, stealing glances at him as he scribbled away at the manuscript. If twelve-year-old Misaki had been told that _the_ Ijuuin-sensei would one day be hanging out at his house, sitting on his couch, drinking from his teacups, he might have had a small heart attack.

He'd almost had one when he opened the door, actually, and saw Ijuuin smiling there in the hall. At first Misaki was afraid he'd do something weird- like he had at the office- but it turned out he was only swinging by to drop off his latest _The Kan_ storyboard. The fanboy had been so excited to read it that he hadn't thought twice about inviting Ijuuin in.

Said man set down his cup and turned to his sub-editor, who was just working through the final pages of the storyboard.

"How's your brother doing?"

"Oh, he's been discharged!" Misaki said, lighting up at the very mention of it. He circled a speech bubble on the page and smiled at Ijuuin. "The doctor said his recovery was just short of miraculous. Great, huh?"

"That's good to hear." After a pause, Ijuuin added, "I'm surprised you forgave him so easily after everything he said to you."

"I told you, we talked it out," Misaki replied. "And of course I forgave him- He's my older brother."

From the other end of the couch came a faint sound of amusement. When Misaki looked up, Ijuuin was giving him one of _those_ looks.

"So kind…"

He gulped. "Uh… What?"

But Ijuuin just shook his head.

"Don't mind me," he said. He leaned further back into the faded, blue cushions, looking out of the window at the sunny cityscape.

"I'd be interested to meet to your brother," he eventually said.

"You can, if you stick around," said Misaki, glancing up from his scrawls. "He's visiting later with his wife and son. I'm sure they'd love to meet you, sensei."

Sunlight ran along ebony locks as Ijuuin turned his head towards the kitchen. "Ah. I wondered what all the baking was for."

Indeed, there were unwashed utensils, bags of flour and smears of red bean paste all over Misaki's kitchen (the only room he hadn't managed to clean yet). The whole apartment smelled pleasantly of tea and anpan rolls, a fresh batch of which was cooling on the counter. Misaki had had way too much fun making them; it had been ages since he was able to cook anything.

Shame about his crappy kitchen supplies, though, he thought as he flipped a page. He missed the old, fancy kitchen; nothing he'd made since he moved was as good as the stuff he used to cook at the old place for-

He kicked himself. _Focus on your work_.

There was only one panel left, though, and he couldn't see anything worth changing, so he shuffled the pages back into order and put down his pen.

"Okay, I think I'm done. Shall I fax these to Kirishima-san, or…?"

"Don't worry about it," Ijuuin said. He took the storyboard back and started flicking through. "I'll give them to him next time I see him. Did you like the new chapter?" he asked, sitting up a littler straighter.

The editor nodded vigorously. "It was really awesome, sensei!" he said. "I totally didn't see that ending coming, but I loved it!"

"I thought you might." Scanning over Misaki's edits, Ijuuin stopped on a certain page and showed it to him. "You think I should change this?"

Leaning over to look, Misaki saw which edit he meant; one entire panel was circled, with a red arrow directing it to the bottom of the page. He blushed.

"Oh, uh, that one was just a thought," he said quickly. "It just seemed like that panel would have more of an impact if you left it to the end, y'know?"

"Hmm…" As he looked over the page, Ijuuin brought a hand to his chin, and Misaki twiddled his thumbs.

"I-I know I was supposed to start by just correcting spelling errors and stuff," he said, "but I thought, maybe, it might help…

"You don't have to change it if you don't want to, though," he added. "In fact, just let Kirishima-san decide, he knows better than me, after all-"

"Misaki, relax," Ijuuin half-laughed. He looked to the storyboard and back to Misaki again, "I think you're absolutely right- it is better this way."

Misaki lifted his head. "You think?"

" _Yes_ ," said the mangaka, and gave him a playful shove. "Honestly, Misaki, you're my e _ditor_. Take control now and then, why don't you?"

He was smiling, but Misaki ducked his head. "Sorry. I just don't feel like I'm good enough to be telling you what to do yet…"

Rising from the couch, Ijuuin carried his empty teacup to the kitchen.

"You need to have more confidence," he said. He rinsed out the cup and set it down on the draining board. "Can I have some anpan?"

Misaki gave his permission, and was just about grab one of the sweet rolls for himself when the doorbell rang. As Ijuuin re-entered the living room, Misaki raised his eyebrows.

"They're here already?" he said, heading to the door and opening it. A happy face with a pair of shiny new glasses greeted him.

"Misaki!" Takahiro, propped up on a pair of crutches, beamed at his little brother. "Thank you for having us!"

He was as lively as ever, despite having only left the hospital a few days ago. Grinning, Misaki gave him a hug.

"Nii-chan, you look great! Come on in," he said, stepping aside. Takahiro hobbled through the doorway, followed by his wife, who was holding a burbling Mahiro. As soon as she entered, she looked around and emitted a gasp of delight.

"Misaki-kun, your new place is so cute! I love your- Oh, hello," Manami said, noticing Misaki's other guest. Ijuuin was licking red bean paste from his lips, regarding Misaki's family closely.

"Oh, yeah," said Misaki, and pulled the mangaka over by his arm. "Sensei, this is my brother Takahiro, and that's Manami and Mahiro. Nii-chan, this is Ijuuin-sensei!" he said, eyes shining as he introduced the two of them at last.

Takahiro's mouth fell open. He looked Ijuuin up and down- from his smart shoes to his designer shirt to his expensive haircut- in awe. " _You're_ Kyo Ijuuin, the mangaka?"

With a charming smile, Ijuuin held out his hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Takahashi-san. Misaki's told me quite a bit about you."

"The pleasure's all mine," Takahiro replied as they shook hands. "I've been buying your manga for Misaki since he was ten, you know!"

"Do you work with Misaki-kun, Ijuuin-sensei?" Manami asked.

Nodding, the mangaka wrapped an arm around Misaki and pulled him into his side, causing the boy's face to redden.

"He was recently appointed as my sub-editor," he told them. Sapphires looked directly into emeralds when he next spoke. "And I must say, he's been a huge help to me so far."

For a split second, Misaki saw his brother's gaze drop to Ijuuin's hand, so fond and familiar as it clutched Misaki's shoulder. But then he looked up again, and his old friendly smile was back.

"I'm happy to hear that. I'm sure working with you is a dream come true for Misaki."

"Is that so?" A flash of perfect teeth, and the hand on Misaki's shoulder pressed him closer still. "I'm honoured."

* * *

After Ijuuin had made small talk and held Mahiro and thoroughly charmed the entire family, he left, promising Misaki he'd be back soon with a second draft. They waved him off, and Misaki hurried to start cleaning up the cluttered kitchen. He pointed Takahiro towards the couch as he did so.

"You should sit down, Nii-chan."

"No, I'm fine," Takahiro said, limping after him and into the adjoining room. His crutches clattered against the counter as he fell back against it, exhaling. He only allowed himself to rest for a moment, though.

"Want me to help you clean up?"

Up to his elbows in soapy water, Misaki frowned. "No way, Nii-chan- you're my guest. _And_ you're injured," he said, nodding at the white plaster entombing Takahiro's entire left leg.

"Yes, come and sit down, Taka-chan," said Manami from the living room. At Misaki's suggestion, she carried Mahiro to the counter and gave him a roll to munch on. She pulled a face at Misaki as she did so.

"Even though he can barely walk, he refuses to take it easy. I had to badger him into letting me _drive_ here," she said, lowering her brows at her husband.

Takahiro was undeterred. He crossed the tiny kitchen on one crutch, managing to grab a half-empty carton of eggs and some milk with his free hand.

"I don't have to be useless just because I'm injured. I'll just put some stuff away for you," he said to his brother, prying open the fridge door with the handle of his crutch despite Misaki's protests. Upon looking inside, however, he very nearly spilled the eggs all over the floor.

"Misaki! What do you call this?"

"What?" Scrubbing away at a bowl, Misaki twisted to look inside the fridge. Immediately, he realised what his brother was so alarmed about; the shelves were crammed with nothing but plastic-wrapped meals and foil pouches.

"Oh," said Misaki. "Well, you know I don't really have time for homemade stuff anymore…"

Takahiro was gaping at the fridge as if it were storing a dead body or something. "But… But this is literally just ready meals and energy gels! Is this _all_ you've been eating?"

Misaki shrugged, setting the bowl down on the draining board. "If it gets me through the day, what's the problem?"

"Misaki, that's not healthy!" Closing the fridge, Takahiro tried to lay a hand against his younger brother's forehead. "What if you get sick?"

"Nii-chan!" Misaki swatted him away. "What have we said about treating me like a little kid?"

Manami nodded in agreement. Shoulders dropping, Takahiro retracted his hand and used it to grab himself a roll instead. "I know, I know. I just worry about you..."

"Don't I know it…" Plunging his hands into the water again, Misaki offered his brother a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, I'll start eating properly soon."

This seemed to satisfy Takahiro, who propped himself up against the counter without saying any more. Misaki carried on with the dishes, and the four of them stood nibbling on anpan in comfortable silence before Manami brought up a new topic.

"That Ijuuin-sensei seems nice."

"He can be kind of a weirdo at times," said Misaki. "But yeah, he is nice."

At the mention of the mangaka, Takahiro shifted. He cleared his throat. "He seems to really like you, Misaki."

Sensing the change in his brother's tone, Misaki carefully laid his whisk on the draining board and looked up at him. "I guess so…"

Takahiro wouldn't quite look him in the eye. "Are… Are you and him…?"

 _I_ knew _he was going to ask that…_ "No, Nii-chan."

"I just thought, maybe-"

"There's nothing going on between us," said Misaki. With a wry smile, he couldn't stop himself from adding, "Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I have the hots for every guy in sight."

The older brother turned bright red. "I-I know that…"

"I'm gonna go change Mahiro," said Manami quickly. She disappeared with her son into the bathroom, leaving the brothers alone. Misaki bit his lip. Although Takahiro had accepted his sexuality, it seemed he wasn't entirely comfortable with the topic just yet…

After a moment or two of pregnant silence, the younger brother spoke up.

"Sorry," he said, keeping his eyes on the bowlful of dishes. "I didn't mean to make things awkward."

"No, it's fine," said Takahiro. Using the counter and a single crutch for support, he reached for a dishcloth and busied himself with the clean dishes.

"You're right," he continued, "I shouldn't look at you any differently just because I know you like men now."

The cloth squeaked against Misaki's drinking glass as Takahiro dried it with a small smile on his face. He looked exactly as normal; not uncomfortable or disapproving at all. Misaki passed him another glass.

"You know, you're handling this a lot better than I thought you would."

"My broken leg?"

"Me being gay."

"Oh." Takahiro chuckled. "Well, it's a little weird for me, but the more I think about it, the more I realise it's not really such a big deal."

He still didn't sound totally truthful; it was almost like he was trying to convince himself as much as Misaki. Still, he was trying hard to accept his brother for who he was, and Misaki appreciated that.

After a moment's consideration, he added, "To be honest, it wasn't even the fact that you're gay that surprised me most."

Misaki looked up at him, surprised. "It wasn't?"

"No," said the elder brother, shaking his head. Yellow light from the overhead lamp glinted off his new lenses as the corners of his mouth turned down.

"It was more the idea that you'd been involved with Usagi, of all people…"

Misaki's hands slowed, sinking into the dirtying water. The steam filling the room was suddenly very warm on his face. "Because he's so much older than me?"

"Well, yeah, that. But also because he was my best friend, and I didn't think he'd lie to me. Or hurt you," Takahiro said. His brow furrowed as he placed a dried whisk back in its drawer, staring at nothing in particular.

"I think, deep down, that was what I was most angry about."

"Mm…"

 _But… I hurt him too, didn't I?_

Seeing Misaki's expression, Takahiro coughed. "Let's change the subject. Why would you want to spend this visit talking about your ex-boyfriend?"

He laughed a high, forced laugh, and then attempted (still leaning on just one crutch) to pick up and carry the pile of plates to the cupboard. Misaki swooped in, catching the wobbling stack before it toppled to the tiles.

"It's okay, Nii-chan- it's not like you're never allowed to mention him," he said, putting away the plates one by one. Whilst in reality, he wanted to change the subject even more than his brother did, he felt obliged to mention, "It was actually Usagi-san who drove me to the hospital."

Having returned to the remaining dishes, Takahiro's drying hand froze. "Really?"

"Uh-huh," Misaki replied. Despite himself, a soft smile played on his lips. "He stayed with me in the waiting room all day, too."

Takahiro blinked. Slowly, he resumed his drying. "Wow… Wasn't that, like, super awkward for you both?"

A laugh escaped the younger. "A little, but I think we were both too worried about you to care."

He meant to cheer his brother up, but Takahiro's face fell quite considerably upon hearing this information. The dishcloth lowered to the countertop and Takahiro leaned back against it once more. His gaze was fixed on the black and white floor tiles. "I had no idea he was even there…"

They fell silent. Unsure of what to say, Misaki continue to stow away his dishes. With all the clinking china, he almost missed the quiet sigh that came from his brother's lips. He looked over his shoulder to see Takahiro chewing his lip (a habit he shared with Misaki) and tilted his head.

"It's weird," said the taller man at last. "I'm so furious with him, but at the same time… I kind of miss him."

"You do?"

Takahiro's voice grew quieter. "Well, yeah. Of course."

The granite countertop was still sprinkled with flour from Misaki's baking activities. Reaching out a finger, Takahiro began tracing random patterns in the white powder. "I mean, Usagi was like another brother to me- until he was such a jerk to you."

"Nii-chan, you don't even know what happened between us," Misaki reminded him. As he turned to the draining board to dry the last of the dishes, a frown crossed Takahiro's face.

"He hurt my little brother, and that's all I need to know to know he's a jerk." However, the violet fire in his eyes soon dimmed. They stared at his swirling, floury finger. "Still… I lost my best friend. And for some reason, I don't feel like anyone could ever replace Usagi."

Misaki swallowed. He found himself holding the final piece of crockery on the draining board: the teacup that Ijuuin had left there. As he examined it, Misaki- he wasn't sure why- felt a sudden churning sensation in his stomach. It worsened when he thought about Takahiro's words; about the little toy rabbit, which had been beside Misaki's sleeping body every night since the one he spent at the hospital.

"Yeah… I know what you mean."

He didn't fully realise what he'd said until Takahiro gave him a strange look.

"Do you regret breaking up with him, then?"

"Wha-?"

His grip on the teacup loosed. Misaki fumbled, but it fell to the floor with a loud clatter; it didn't crack, though. A flustered Misaki stooped to pick it up as Takahiro watched with raised brows.

"Ah, no, that's not what I meant!" Misaki assured him, feeling blood rush to his cheeks. He avoided his brother's eyes and looked at the teacup instead; the only damage was a small chip in the rim, so he hurried to place it back on the shelf. "I don't know what I'm saying. Let's talk about something else."

Still staring, Takahiro nodded. It seemed that neither of them could think of a new conversational topic, however, so Misaki- for lack of anything else to do- grabbed the tray of anpan rolls for them both. They each ate one wordlessly, listening to the hum of the refrigerator, the steady dripping of the faucet. Misaki watched the dust motes dancing in the sunlight as he stood, pondering.

 _Why did I say that? It's not like I regret my decision..._

But then, why did he get like this whenever he thought about Usagi-san? What was with all the crying spells? Why couldn't he sleep without that stupid rabbit?

 _This is ridiculous. It's been nearly seven months- I've got to stop having these kinds of thoughts._ Furiously, he tore off a chunk of anpan and chewed, hoping it would banish the horrible taste in his mouth.

"These taste just like mom's," Takahiro remarked. His younger brother nodded, eyeing the battered, stained old recipe book (something of a family heirloom) on the shelf above him.

Sweet filling spilled onto his tongue as he took another bite. The familiar, sugary taste… Splitting the chore of washing up with Takahiro… It was all dragging Misaki back to his early days, when he and Takahiro played together in their old house and it was their mother that baked the anpan in the old kitchen. Happy days; before the accident, before Usagi-san, before Ijuuin-sensei; before all these complicated _feelings_ swarmed Misaki's tender soul and took over his life.

He swallowed the last of the bread roll along with the lump in his throat. He felt weird and tearful. Thinking about the past always seemed to have that effect on him- but in this instance, it did give Misaki an idea.

"Hey, if you really want to help out, why don't we cook dinner together?" he said. Takahiro looked up from his anpan, and Misaki smiled at him. "It'll be just like old times."

Balancing on his good leg, Takahiro leaned over and used his thumb to wipe away a spot of bean paste Misaki hadn't noticed from his cheek. He returned the younger's smile as he did so, and just for a second, Misaki felt like he was a little kid again, cooking with his big brother without a care in the world.

"Sure," said Takahiro, "I'd love to."

* * *

 **The next chapter should be up within a week, so I can pretty much take this story off hiatus now. Woohoo!**

 **Also, I'd like to say thanks to everyone who wished me a happy birthday or good luck for my exams. I'd have responded to all of them, but as you may have noticed, at the time I posted the last chapter fanfiction was doing that annoying thing where the reviews don't show up, so I couldn't respond to any of them. So, thank you to everyone who reviewed! I really appreciate it! :)**

 **Anyway, what did you think of the chapter? Please let me know. As soon as my final exam is out of the way, updates should be much more frequent. For now, I'll try and get the next one done as soon as I can!**

 **See you guys next time- thank you very much for reading! :3**


	26. Chapter 26

**My exams are over! I'm freeeee! :D**

 **I ended up splitting this chapter into a short one and a very long one. They were both quite challenging, but I hope you guys enjoy them nonetheless.**

* * *

On the third floor of Marukawa Shoten, Akihiko slumped against the wall outside the conference room. He groaned quietly to himself. Aikawa-san had woken him at the ungodly hour of eight a.m., stuffed him into a suit and dragged him to yet another meeting, during which he'd been forced to stay awake and participate despite his severe caffeine/nicotine deprivation. It was a hot May afternoon, which had only intensified Akihiko's suffering as he sat for hours in that crowded, stuffy room.

He could feel the lighter in his pocket against his thigh. Long fingers hovered over it, itching for a smoke, but he had to wait for his editor; she'd lingered to try and flirt with some guy from sales.

When she finally emerged- giggling and waving- Akihiko fixed her with his most withering scowl. It didn't have the slightest impact.

"Oh, don't give me that look," she said, rolling her eyes as she stalked over to Akihiko. "If you'd stop getting drunk before bed, we wouldn't have this problem."

"Easy for you to say," Akihiko grumbled. His voice was hoarse.

Her only response was to tug at the cuff of his sleeve.

"You can take a nap after we review your work," she promised. "Want to head back to your place?"

He nodded, the muscles in his neck screaming in pain. "I want to buy a coffee first, though."

They headed for the break room down the hall, and Akihiko watched his editor as she walked. Whereas his own clothes were carelessly thrown on and wrinkled, Aikawa-san's attire was immaculate. A pleated midi skirt swished around her legs with each stride, just high enough to show off her smart heels. Beads twinkled around her neck. The make-up on her face was subtle but effective (the confident smile she wore showed that she knew it) and there wasn't a red hair out of place in her bun. Akihiko felt like such a mess beside her. He felt a mess all the time these days.

His feet ached as they made their way down the hall. Akihiko was swaying slightly, dizzy. He was so tired…

"So, how much have you managed to do since our last meeting?" she asked him. It took a second for the words to register, but when they did he glanced over.

"Chapters thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen are done."

His editor's mouth fell open. "What? Thirteen was the only one I asked you to finish!"

Akihiko just shrugged. "I was on a roll."

"Is that why you're acting like a zombie?" she asked, eyeing his haggard face and weary gait. "Were you up writing all night again?"

He nodded. He expected Aikawa-san to be delighted, but instead a worried line appeared between her pencilled-in eyebrows.

"Sensei, that's not healthy." They came to a stop outside the break room. Standing in front of Akihiko, she planted her hands on her hips. "You're not going to get carried away again, are you? I don't want any more surprise trips to the emergency room."

The author huffed. "Aren't you the one who's always nagging me to meet my deadlines?"

"Well, of course I want you to work hard," she said. "But I don't want you to strain yourself."

"I'm not."

"Are you sure?" Biting her lip, Aikawa-san looked him up and down. "Don't take this the wrong way, but… you haven't been looking too good lately, sensei."

Akihiko frowned, irritated, but as he knew his editor was absolutely right he didn't argue. Instead, he just asked, "What's it matter to you, anyway?"

It must have sounded harsher aloud than it did in Akihiko's sleep-deprived head, because Aikawa-san looked hurt. "I'm just concerned about you, that's all."

"Well, don't be," he said. "I'm not neglecting my health- I just want to get this book done. Is that such a bad thing?"

He knew he was being curt, but it was too early for her nosiness… Akihiko just wanted to buy his coffee and then get outside so he could light up, but Aikawa-san was now regarding him with pursed lips and narrowed eyes; if she wasn't suspicious before, she definitely was now.

"You know, I'm surprised you're putting so much dedication into this book," she said. "I mean, it's great for _me_ , but you never usually care so much about your projects."

 _This one is_ different. But he wasn't going to tell Aikawa-san that.

In no mood to make up an excuse, Akihiko simply dragged his feet over to the break room.

"What can I say?" he said as he entered. "I've turned over a new leaf."

Clearly seeing through his sarcasm, the editor tried to call after him, but he was already closing the door. Akihiko sighed. He didn't want to talk about _why_ the book was so important- he just wanted it _written_. And if that meant losing a little sleep and eating a little less, so be it. Who was Aikawa-san to interfere with his personal lifestyle?

The break room smelled of air freshener and espresso. Some guy was using the coffee machine, so Akihiko stood behind him and waited. The whirr of the machine was grating. He rubbed his head, which was starting to feel horribly light.

Whoever was making coffee was taking his time to do so, and eventually, Akihiko found he was too exhausted to even stand. He staggered over to a chair and sat, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. They felt like they'd had soap squirted on them, no matter how many times he blinked. A heavy sigh escaped his lips.

He knew he was lying to his editor; he hadn't been minding his health at all. He was barely eating or sleeping, his daily cigarette count was off the charts, and often he found himself sitting at his laptop for hours and hours without a break. More than once, he'd even fallen asleep at his keyboard. Looking down at his crumpled, pale grey suit, Akihiko couldn't help but feel just a little bit ashamed.

He was regressing, slowly but surely, back into his old habits. But was it any surprise? There was no more Misaki to force-feed him healthy food, after all, or hide his cigarettes, or drag him to bed when it came to sunrise and he was still writing. He sighed again, covering his face with a large hand. He should never have taken that kind of thing for granted…

The guy at the coffee machine finally moved away, and Akihiko stood and pressed the button. To his immense annoyance, however, the damn thing only whirred in protest and refused to give up the desperately needed caffeine.

Growling, Akihiko thumped the useless machine with his fist. He leant his heavy head against his arm, cursing under his breath, when there was a voice behind him.

"All out of coffee, is it?"

Turning around, Akihiko saw the other young man looking up at him. He had friendly eyes of a deep maroon, smiling as he held out his steaming cup towards Akihiko.

"Here. You can have mine."

The author blinked. "Are you sure?"

"Uh-huh," said the guy, nodding. "You look like you need it more than I do."

In all honesty, what with the way he looked today, Akihiko was surprised this guy was able to stand in front of him without cowering in fear. Confusing as this random act of kindness was, however, the author wasn't complaining- not if it meant he could finally have his coffee. He reached out and took the cup from the shorter man.

"Thanks."

"No problem." The young man- whoever he was- smiled, and sauntered over to the snack machine while Akihiko took a sip. He stayed in the corner for a moment, savouring the hot drink (cheap thought it was) before he had to go and endure his editor's fussing again.

He heard the door swing open, but didn't look up, even as the other man spoke again.

"Oh, hey, Shizuku."

"... Hello, Yanase," came the monotonous response. There was a rattle as coins were pushed through a slot, followed by the familiar _whirr-thunk_ of a snack being dispensed.

"Where have you been? I haven't seen you at Ijuuin-sensei's place in ages."

Hearing the name, Akihiko turned his head automatically. He laid eyes on the newcomer; he was a skinny, sullen-looking thing, standing with his hands inside his navy-blue hoodie and scuffing his feet.

"I... don't work with him anymore."

The other guy- Yanase- tilted his head. "Huh? How come?"

"Kirishima-san decided I wasn't good enough," Shizuku replied. Bitterness dripped from his tone, and Akihiko saw his dark brown eyes harden as he added, "He gave my job to the newbie."

"Oh, yeah. The guy Ijuuin-sensei's always clinging to?" Yanase asked, stooping to retrieve his candy bar. Shizuku nodded.

"I've seen him a couple of times. They gave him a place on _Japun_ even though he's brand new- And now he's sub-editor to Ijuuin-sensei, too?" Yanase went on, without the faintest idea of how much his words were affecting the novelist standing a few feet away.

Listening to the two of them, Akihiko's fingers tightened around the polystyrene cup.

 _So, now they're working together…_

An invisible fist squeezed at his heart. It was only a matter of time now… Soon, Ijuuin would claim the love of Akihiko's life and steal him away for good. He'd all but won.

"I'm really sorry, Shizuku," Yanase was saying through a mouthful. He had a sympathetic frown on his face as he took another bite. "I know you like sensei a lot…"

Shizuku kept his head down. Even from a distance, Akihiko could see the glaze to his eyes, the quiver of his lower lip.

"It doesn't matter. He never liked me back. Since before I even met him, it's always been-"

As if on cue, the door opened once again, and strolling into the break room- clad in form-fitting smart trousers and a crisp, white shirt- came none other than Kyo motherfucking Ijuuin himself. To make matters worse, scurrying after him was his newly appointed sub-editor. Akihiko almost burst into tears upon seeing him. The two of them were laughing together, but they stopped when they beheld the small party already in the room. Everyone was still for a moment, and Akihiko's and Ijuuin's eyes locked across the room.

The novelist felt his jaw clench as he stared at the mangaka for a second, who in turn looked almost offended at the sight of Akihiko- as if it were a criminal offense to show his face in Ijuuin's presence. This expression alone was enough to raise Akihiko's hackles, but he was quickly distracted when he noticed Misaki, who was fixing him with a curious stare. Green eyes were clouded with what looked like worry, and the author- suddenly very aware of his wrinkled clothes, his messy hair, the bags under his eyes- looked away.

"Hey, sensei," said Yanase (Shizuku had busied himself with the vending machine). Ijuuin surveyed the gathering in front of him with a smile.

"Hello, Yanase-kun, Shizuku…" he paused, looking Akihiko up and down. "Usami-sensei."

Akihiko glared, but Misaki- attentive as always- stepped forwards before he could respond.

"Hey, Usagi-san."

Unbelievable, how many emotions that simple phrase could stir within him…

"Hey." An immediate awkwardness befell them, and he sipped his coffee. "... How's Takahiro?"

"Uh, on the mend," said Misaki, only half-smiling. His eyes kept wandering to Ijuuin, who was still watching Akihiko with that annoying smirk on his face.

"Yes. Misaki's brother looked quite well when I met him yesterday."

Akihiko nearly crushed his coffee cup. His eyes became slits, and a foul aura radiated off him and in Ijuuin's direction, who only folded his arms in a satisfied way and kept smiling.

 _So, you call him 'Misaki' now, do you?_ Not only that, but the bastard had stolen Akihiko's best friend as well as his love- _and_ he was obviously rubbing it in his face. He was _not_ in the mood for this. _Fuck you, Kyo Ijuuin._

Misaki was biting his lip as he looked at the two of them, seeming poised to jump in at any second and prevent a brawl from breaking out. Shizuku and Yanase were hanging back in the corner; even without fully understanding the situation, they could surely detect the dangerous vibes from the two artists.

More than anything, Akihiko wanted to make some sort of snarky remark- one that would wipe that stupid fucking smile off Ijuuin's face for good- but Misaki was watching his every move. So instead, he emptied his coffee cup in one gulp, threw it into the trash, and headed for the exit in quick, large strides.

"Happy to hear it," he said, nearly wrenching the door open. He had to get out of there, get away from that man he so despised before he did something incredibly stupid.

Just before the door closed, he heard Misaki utter a nervous goodbye behind him- but it was too late to answer.

The door banged shut, and Akihiko pushed a hand through his hair. His heart was racing.

Looking up, he saw that Aikawa-san was waiting for him on the other side of the corridor. He must have been in there for at least ten minutes, but there was no 'about time' or 'what took you so long?' His editor didn't say anything; she only looked at him with concerned, crystal-blue eyes. Without a doubt, she'd seen the mangaka and his editor go in there.

Her frown deepened when she saw the look on Akihiko's face, but he simply shook his head.

"Let's get out of here," he said as they started walking. He needed his keyboard.


	27. Chapter 27

It wasn't even summer yet, but Tokyo was sweltering. In the short time Akihiko had been inside the office, his car had turned into a greenhouse, and he had to roll down the windows before driving home. He and Aikawa-san sat in silence for the entire journey. A muggy breeze blew through the windows and whipped their hair around, and the leather steering wheel burned as he gripped it.

Every now and then, he felt Aikawa-san staring in his direction, so he made sure to keep his eyes locked on the road. He didn't want to talk. She'd definitely noticed his bad mood, but if he shut himself in his office as soon as they got home, she wouldn't be able to pester him about it.

The windows of the condominium were golden with sunrays when Akihiko reached it. He pulled into the parking lot, thankful for the cool of the concrete as he and Aikawa-san walked to the elevator. This entire day had been so hot and bothersome. He couldn't wait to get in and write.

On the way up, Aikawa-san- seeing that Akihiko wasn't going to- tried to strike up conversation.

"Sooo… Does Hitomi-chan know about Yuu's secret yet?"

He stuck his hands in his pockets. "Not yet."

"That was a really good twist, you know," she said, grinning. "I mean, I know Yuu used to be a criminal, but I never suspected he'd have been involved with the man who killed Hitomi's brother, of all things!

"I can't wait to see her reaction when she finds out," she added. The usual excitement was creeping back into her voice. "It's so uncertain, because she loves Yuu so much, but after what he did to her brother, I just don't know how she'll forgive him…"

"Indeed," Akihiko muttered.

"She definitely will, though," the editor affirmed with a nod. "She loves Yuu too much not to."

He had to stifle a mirthless laugh at that. They reached Akihiko's penthouse, and he let her out of the elevator first, watching her dreamy face as she rambled about his protagonists and how they were sure to get their 'happy-ever-after' at the end of the book.

 _Just you wait, Aikawa-san._

He followed her out, only to realise she'd stopped in her tracks. She'd stopped blathering about the book, too.

"Um, sensei? I think you have a visitor…"

"What?"

Akihiko followed her pointing finger to the living room- and froze. There was a figure on his couch. Sunlight was pouring in through the windows, making it nothing more than a silhouette, but Akihiko would recognize that tall, elegant build and proud posture a mile off…

Leisurely, the man turned his head towards Akihiko. Grey eyes smiled at him from where he sat.

"Welcome home, son."

"You…!"

What the fuck was his father doing here?! Charging forwards, Akihiko saw that he was sitting with one arm around Suzuki-san (something which irked him to no end) and relaxing. He was wearing a charcoal-coloured suit, and an expensive black briefcase lay on the cushion beside him.

"How the hell did you get in here?"

Fuyuhiko smiled in a patient but exasperated sort of way, closing his eyes. "Nice to see you too, Akihiko. You look well," he added, taking in Akihiko's rumpled suit before brushing a speck from the sleeve of his own pristine one.

"What do you want?" Akihiko demanded, his heart already beating fast. This was so irritating… Was this entire day just going to be a procession of people he didn't want to see?

The old man gestured to the couch opposite him.

"Sit down. I just want to chat with you."

Not trusting his father's tone one bit, Akihiko made no move to take a seat but remained on his feet, scowling. Aikawa-san- who had been hovering behind her author- cleared her throat. "Um… Can I get you anything, Usami-san?"

Glancing over as if he'd only just noticed her, Fuyuhiko nodded. "Coffee. Black with no sugar."

Aikawa-san looked a little put out, but huffed off into the kitchen anyway. Akihiko frowned at his father.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't treat my editor like a maid."

"And I'd like it if you didn't treat your father like something you scraped off the bottom of your shoe," he replied, without missing a beat. "But we're none of us perfect, are we?"

He waved an aged hand towards the other couch once more. After a moment or two, Akihiko walked over and took a reluctant seat across from his father. His muscles were already tense and tight, so he dug into his pocket and flicked open his silver lighter.

A just barely audible click of the tongue came from Fuyuhiko as he brought the cigarette to his lips. "Still haven't quit that disgusting habit of yours, I see."

Eyes narrowing, Akihiko unbuttoned his jacket and blew a deliberate breath of smoke in his father's direction. "Why are you here?"

"A father can't drop in to see how his youngest son is doing?"

 _Like you give a damn._

"Cut the crap," said Akihiko, wanting to hurry this along and get him out of here as much as he could. "You only ever visit when you have some ulterior motive."

"Isn't simply wanting to know what's going on in your life a good enough motive?" Fuyuhiko said. Leaning against the giant teddy bear, he sighed at Akihiko in mock offense. "You never tell me anything, after all- It hurts that you keep so many secrets from me."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Akihiko instead looked up to thank Aikawa-san, who had returned with two aromatic cups of coffee (it was much better than the crappy stuff from the break room). While he was drinking- rolling the cigarette between two fingers- Aikawa-san took a seat beside him, and he noticed her blue eyes roaming all over Fuyuhiko; though she knew quite a bit about him, Akihiko's editor had never actually met his father before.

"What are you talking about?" he said once his glass was half-empty. "I'm not keeping any secrets from you."

Without taking his eyes off his son, Fuyuhiko took a long, slow swig of black coffee. Then he calmly set down his glass, leaned forwards and rested his chin on interlocking fingers.

"Then explain to me why Takahashi-kun stopped living here over six months ago and I've only just heard about it."

The coffee in Akihiko's cup rippled. Beside him, he felt Aikawa-san stiffen. "How did you...?"

"Ryuichiro-kun told me."

 _Isaka-san?!_ That jerk, sniffing around like his father's little watchdog…

A cough regained his attention.

"I wish I didn't have to hear these things through him, Akihiko," his father said. On the surface, he looked nonchalant, as if he didn't really care either way. However, Akihiko saw something angry flicker across his father's grey eyes- like the flash of a steel blade- and he knew his father must be truly furious that Akihiko hadn't told him.

"Never mind that," Akihiko grumbled. As if he'd ever talk to his father about Misaki if he could help it- But he never told Isaka-san about the breakup, either. "How did _he_ know about it?"

A shuffle. "Ah…"

Turning his head, Akihiko saw that Aikawa-san was shifting in her seat, avoiding Akihiko's eyes as she crossed her legs. Fuyuhiko raised his brows.

"You told him?"

"You damn gossip!" Akihiko exclaimed, pounding his knee with his fist.

"I wasn't gossiping!" she insisted, and poked her index fingers together. "He mentioned that he was having doubts about hiring Misaki-kun because he was living with one of the company's star authors, and he didn't want a scandal to break out. I didn't want Misaki-kun to lose his job offer, so I told Isaka-san you two broke it off. I didn't think he'd tell anyone else..."

So it was her fault… Gritting his teeth, Akihiko shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Aikawa-san…"

She looked at her lap and offered him a mumbled apology. When Akihiko turned back to his father, he was leaning back into pink cushions, swirling his coffee around in its glass.

"It sounded like Takahashi-kun was rather brutal," he said as he watched the dark liquid. He thought for a moment before continuing. "Still, I think this is all for the best. I never thought that boy was very well suited to you."

Akihiko bristled. Showing up at his house uninvited was one thing, but to then insult Misaki…

"So, that's it?" he said. His teeth were clamping down hard on the cigarette. "You just came here to say 'I told you so'?"

"Partly." He set down his coffee cup. Fiery, orange light from the late afternoon sky shone through the glass, glowed on the edges of his face. "But there's another matter I want to discuss with you."

Instantly wary, Akihiko eyed his father. Fuyuhiko didn't say anything more, and the three of them sat there in tense silence for a few moments before Akihiko started to lose patience.

"Well?" he snapped.

Wordlessly, Fuyuhiko reached into his blazer and produced something: a small, square photograph. He held it out over the coffee table. Akihiko looked at it for a second, as if he were afraid it might bite him, before taking it.

It was a picture of a woman. She had long red hair and a matching dress and a string of diamonds around her throat. She wasn't smiling.

Brow creasing, Akihiko waved the photo at his father.

"Am I supposed to know who this is?"

Fuyuhiko sipped his coffee. "Her name is Sakae Yamato."

Immediately, Akihiko knew his father's true reason for visiting him. As Aikawa-san watched in confusion, he stifled a groan.

 _I can't believe this…_

"Let me guess," he said, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "Yamato as in Yamato Industries?"

Yamato Industries. It was just about the only business in Japan that was richer than Usami Corps. Akihiko's family had met with the owner's on a number of occasions; Fuyuhiko was constantly kissing their asses.

Fuyuhiko nodded in confirmation. "Her father is the managing director of the company. I met with him at a conference a few months ago."

"And?" Like he even needed to ask.

"And," said his father, seemingly bracing himself, "he told me he's looking for a suitable husband for his daughter."

 _Knew it_. Akihiko arched an eyebrow. "Are you kidding me?"

Evidently, Fuyuhiko was prepared for his son's arguments (it wasn't the first time they'd had a conversation like this, after all). Any and all false cheerfulness had vanished from his demeanour; his lined face was utterly serious as he faced his son.

"Akihiko, listen. I've been trying to make a business connection with Yamato Industries for years." _I know you have, you money-grabbing asshole._ "If we had family ties with them, it would be hugely beneficial."

The author didn't even bother to hide his snort of disgust. "For you, maybe."

Fuyuhiko pursed his lips. "For _all_ of us."

Shaking his head, Akihiko sat back and folded his arms, puffing furiously on his cigarette. What a waste of his time this was. His idiot father had tried to set him up with countless daughters of wealthy families, and Akihiko had turned his nose up at each and every one of them. What made the old geezer think it would be any different this time?

His breath hitched as a thought struck him. _Because Misaki's gone…?_

"Why are you coming to sensei?" Aikawa-san cut in. She looked just as annoyed (if not more so) than her author. "His brother is the heir to the company, and he's the one that likes women. Why not get him to marry her?"

"It was my intention to arrange a marriage to Haruhiko, at first," Fuyuhiko replied, not even deigning to look at the editor. "But then Yamato-san mentioned that his daughter is, in fact, an avid reader of Akihiko's novels. It sounds as though she's rather taken with him, in fact."

He gave his son a pointed look as he spoke. Akihiko scowled.

"He approves of the match, Akihiko," his father said. "Which means you're the best chance I have at making a connection with the Yamato family and their company."

"Well, you can forget about it."

Fuyuhiko's heavy brows lowered, but Akihiko didn't waver. If his father thought he could marry him off to whoever he wanted just because Misaki had left him, he could think again. Putting out his smoke and instantly lighting another, he lifted one foot onto the coffee table and swung the other leg over it, reminding Fuyuhiko that it was _his_ house, _his_ life and _he_ was in charge.

"I'm not getting tied down with some spoilt little princess for the sake of your greed," he said in addition.

Ordinarily, that would be enough to make his father give up and leave, but Fuyuhiko didn't budge. Instead, he looked his son rather sternly in the eye, and Akihiko- despite himself- swallowed.

"Before you make such sweeping statements, I'd advise you to think about the consequences of not abiding by your father's wishes, Akihiko."

 _Here we go_. What kind of half-baked threat had he come up with this time? "Oh, yeah? What 'consequences'?"

Instead of answering him right away, Fuyuhiko looked at Aikawa-san. She shrank under his gaze, beads clicking as she tugged at them with one hand.

"You said Ryuichiro-kun was worried about Akihiko's… 'activities' causing a scandal, yes?" When she nodded, the old man turned back to his son.

"Takahashi-kun may not be involved with you anymore, but… what's done is done."

Akihiko's brows knitted together. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Although he was smiling, Fuyuhiko's grey eyes were very, very cold. It suddenly occurred to Akihiko that he hadn't had time to open the windows or even turn on the air conditioning, and he resisted the urge to take of his suit jacket.

"The renowned Akihiko Usami, living in secret with another male- and one ten years younger than him, at that…" Fuyuhiko smirked. "Can you imagine what would happen if the press were to get hold of such information? I think the effects would still be nothing short of catastrophic, don't you?"

The author barked a laugh.

"That's how you're going to try and persuade me?" Akihiko sneered. "Tell whoever you want. I couldn't care less about what the public thinks of my life choices."

"I know," said his father. "But even so, if word were to get out about something so scandalous, how could Marukawa Shoten possibly continue to employ you?"

This time, Akihiko's hurt gave a lurch. There was a sharp inhale to his right.

 _My book…_

"Ryuichiro-kun would almost certainly be forced to drop you, Akihiko," Fuyuhiko went on. Aikawa-san was leaning forwards now, hands tightly clasped. "In fact, with such a damaged reputation, you'd probably never publish another novel in your life."

Arms folded tightly across his chest, Akihiko planted both feet back on the floor, glowering at his father.

"I don't write for the money."

His voice was strained but unyielding. He wouldn't show his fear; he wouldn't give his father that satisfaction.

"So stubborn…" said Fuyuhiko under his breath. He frowned at Akihiko ever so slightly. "You understand that I'm not only capable of ending your writing career- I can easily cut you off from our family's money as well, if I so choose."

"Do _you_ understand that I have a law degree from Teito University?" Akihiko countered. It was true that he'd grown accustomed to living in luxury, but he was by no means dependent on his father's fortune for that. "I'm perfectly capable of making my own money whether you get Isaka-san to fire me or not. And even if you tell the whole world about Misaki and me, you can't stop me from doing what I want," he finished, looking his father right in the eyes.

In truth, he was more panicked than he was letting on. This book he was working on… He really wanted to publish it. In fact, he'd never cared so much about any of his projects before. But, even if his sadistic, son-of-a-bitch father really went so far as to destroy his career (and Akihiko knew he would, if he didn't go along with this marriage thing), it still wouldn't stop him from writing. Not even for a minute.

He communicated all this to his father via a stony glare from across the coffee table. Fuyuhiko took in his son's obstinate expression and sighed.

"Very well."

However, he _still_ didn't rise from Akihiko's couch. Exasperated, the author rested his head on his palm and let out a smoky exhale. _He isn't done badgering me yet?_

"But, if I _were_ to make his former relationship with you public, have you considered how that might affect Takahashi-kun?"

Akihiko looked up sharply. The cigarette almost fell from his mouth. Knowing he'd hit his son's weak spot, Fuyuhiko folded his hands calmly in his lap and continued.

" _You_ might not care about being publicly disgraced, but are you really prepared to let that happen to someone you 'cherish', as you put it?"

He took another sip of coffee. "And I'm sure that Ryuichiro-kun wouldn't want to keep hold of the employee who cost him his best author…"

As Aikawa-san's mouth fell open, Akihiko felt his own dry up. The old man, damn him, was right; Akihiko didn't care who knew about his sexuality, but it was something Misaki lived in shame of. Furthermore, if Marukawa's reputation was tarnished because of Misaki, Isaka-san wouldn't hesitate to give him the sack…

The author remembered Misaki's face in the elevator, when he was talking about his new job. Sparkling, emerald eyes… A radiant smile… All because he'd gotten the job of his dreams at Marukawa Shoten. If he lost that because of Akihiko…

Clearly, Fuyuhiko could tell what he was thinking; his face bore an expression of impossible smugness. Oh, Akihiko hated him, he just _hated_ him…

"You can't do this," he said to his father. His fingernails scraped the fabric of the armrest. "This is blackmail."

Fuyuhiko only chuckled. "Akihiko, when you're in a position like mine, you can do anything you want."

A hiss escaped Akihiko- but all of a sudden, there was a loud _slam_ beside him, and his coffee cup tottered and nearly fell. He looked up. Aikawa-san was on her feet, teeth clenched and shoulders squared as she glared down at Fuyuhiko.

"You _monster_!" she yelled, looking even scarier than she did when she was trying to get Akihiko out of bed. "Are you seriously willing to make your own son completely miserable just so you can get what you want? Don't you think he's suffered enough? Him _and_ Misaki-kun?!"

The bun on top of her head trembled indignantly as she spoke. As Fuyuhiko looked her up and down, there was a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Akihiko let out a low growl.

 _The bastard, he's_ enjoying _this…_

"If Akihiko just agrees to this engagement, I won't breathe a word about his relationship with Takahashi-kun." Suddenly, Fuyuhiko's tone changed; the corners of his mouth turned down, and a shadow fell across his features. "I'd say that's rather generous, considering that Takahashi-kun promised me he wouldn't hurt my son.

"In all honesty, I'm tempted to have Ryuichiro-kun fire him regardless of what Akihiko does…"

Nails dug into Akihiko's clammy palms.

"Don't you _dare_ ," he snarled, breathing hard. "You leave him out of this, do you understand me? You better not go anywhere near him."

"I won't- _If_ you'll agree to marry Sakae-san."

"This is insane!" Akihiko cried, leaping to his feet beside his editor. His eyes were wide. The condo was smouldering, and a bead of sweat trickled down his face. "You can't make me do this! What kind father are you?!"

Smoke curled towards the ceiling in a thin, trembling ribbon as the hand holding the cigarette shook. The sun was going down outside the window, turning the sky and the condo a deep, burning red. Shadows stretched across the room.

"If you'd just listen to me for once, I think you'll find that I'm only trying to make you do what's best for you," said Fuyuhiko. Though he was addressing Akihiko, his raven-haired head turned towards Aikawa-san. "It's not my intention to make you miserable."

The editor snorted. "Really?" she said, placing a manicured hand on her hip. She was resting all of her weight on it, feet apart in the stance of someone looking for a fight. "You think marrying your _gay_ son to a woman isn't going to make him miserable?"

Fuyuhiko shrugged. "As I've said to Akihiko before, it's not one hundred percent true that the greatest happiness comes from being with the person you love.

"We all know there's nothing romantic about an arranged marriage," he said. His expression once again turned serious as he looked up at his son. "I'm not asking you to fall in love with Sakae-san. I'm not even asking you to be a good husband to her, if you don't want to- All you have to do is put a ring on her finger and secure a connection with the Yamatos."

Akihiko's chest was heaving. The tie around his neck seemed to be crushing his windpipe. He looked away, screwing his eyes tightly shut. This couldn't be happening…

 _Why? Why does he do this to me now, of all times? Why?_

"That's _horrible_ ," he heard his editor say. "You're trying to force your son into a loveless marriage so you can make more money. That's completely horrible!"

"I prefer the word 'strategic'." When Akihiko looked, Fuyuhiko was finishing off his coffee. He put the cup back on the table (he hadn't bothered with a coaster) and offered his son a grim smile.

"Besides, Akihiko takes after his mother. Even if he's married, I'm sure that won't stop him from fooling around with as many men as he likes."

Akihiko ground his teeth. Aikawa-san was looking from him to his father and back again, her face drawn and tense and agitated. "Sensei, tell him he's out of his mind!"

Neither of them paid her any notice. Leaning forwards again, Fuyuhiko fixed his son with a hard stare.

"I'm doing this for you, Akihiko," he said, ignoring the author's furious gaze. "I've indulged you in your foolish fantasies quite enough by allowing you to stay with Takahashi-kun, and just look where that's gotten you."

Akihiko bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. Fuyuhiko kept talking.

"You're thirty-three years old- You've neglected your responsibility to your family for far too long. I'm positive that if you take my advice just this once, you'll thank me later."

His son wouldn't- couldn't- look at him. "You can't…"

"Still not convinced?" Again with that infuriating smile… "I was right about Takahashi-kun, wasn't I?"

Akihiko's heart was hammering in his chest. It was so tight; so hard to breath. This wasn't the first time his father had made his blood boil- far from it- but this time, it wasn't merely boiling: it was sizzling, seething, _evaporating_.

He wanted to hit the old man. No- he wanted to _kill_ him. He wanted to scream and shout and roar his hatred at him until his throat was raw and his voice hoarse.

So then, why couldn't he get any words to form?

"Yamato-san has asked to meet you in two weeks' time to hopefully arrange an engagement with his daughter," Fuyuhiko was saying. Watching his son closely, he angled his head to the side. "What do you say?"

Akihiko was silent. Both his father and his editor were staring at him, but he refused to look at either of them. Sweat dripped from his face as he tilted it downwards, catching a glimpse of the red photograph as he did so. His fists were shaking by his sides.

 _I won't do it. Whatever he does to me, I won't be promised to someone I can't love._

But then, images began to form in his mind. Images of Misaki, looking up at Isaka-san with large, forlorn eyes as he was relieved of his job and his dream was snatched away from him. Misaki, walking head-down through the streets, biting his lip and holding in tears as people pointed and whispered, heckled and hurled abuse. Misaki, disgraced and jobless, curling up on whichever bed he slept in now and crying bitterly, cursing Akihiko, cursing himself…

"Hmm?"

Akihiko took a deep breath, blew it out through his nose. There was pin drop silence.

"... I'll think about it."

Blue eyes bulged out of Aikawa-san's head. "Wha-?!"

An amused sound came from Fuyuhiko, who looked at his watch.

"That's more than I expected, I must say." With a satisfied smile, he stood abruptly from the couch, lifting his briefcase as he did so. Aikawa-san gaped after him as he made his way towards the door. He walked past the wide windows, a black shape against the red backdrop.

"That will be all then," he said from the entryway. Placing his hand on the doorknob, he added, "Think carefully before you give me your answer."

Akihiko remained still. The cigarette dangled loosely from his lips. Opening the door, Fuyuhiko turned back one last time to give both artist and editor a cheery wave.

"See you soon, son."

* * *

 **And you guys thought I couldn't lay the drama on any thicker XD What do you think Akihiko will do?**

 **I'm not too confident about posting this because I found it quite tricky to get right, so please tell me your opinion in the comments, and if you can see anything I could have done better, please let me know. Still, I hope you liked the chapter.**

 **Anyway, now that exams are out of the way, it's going to be updates, updates, updates! :3 I am currently also busy with a fic request someone sent me, but it shouldn't be too long before the next chapter is up.**

 **As always, thank you for reading, and please review. :)**


	28. Chapter 28

**Some of your reviews on the previous chapter had me laughing my arse off XD Sorry I'm such a mean author.**

 **It's quite late as I finish this, so sorry for any typos. I just wanted to get the chapter written and posted. It'** **s filler-ish, but in my opinion, necessary.**

 **Also, to my best friend Ro: Happy birthday again! Here, have some angst as a present. :D**

* * *

Twilight spilled into Akihiko's office like blood, dying everything red. The smell of smoke from his many cigarettes hung in the air. Coupled with the crimson light, it gave the impression that the room was burning. At least, that was how it seemed to Akihiko as he pounded away at his keyboard. Everything was burning; his eyes, his heart, his rage.

 _Lightning fast, Yuu lunged at his partner's assailant. The scumbag barely had time to turn before Yuu swung the butt of his gun into his jaw with a sickening crunch._

The fight scene was unfolding before Akihiko's eyes. It was brutal, ugly and angry. Akihiko was practically there; he wasn't Akihiko, he was Yuu Fujino, stabbing not at the keys of his computer but at the villain who had dared to threaten his precious partner.

 _Hitomi lay on the concrete floor with her uniform half-shredded, whimpering. The mottled bruise on the side of her face gave Yuu another surge of energy as he struck again, so hard he heard the man's ribs crack. His yelp of agony was music to Yuu's ears._

The picture of the woman in red was lying on the desk. Akihiko had purposely placed it so that he could see her out of the corner of his eye at all times. The urge to crumple her into a ball or tear her in two was constant, but Akihiko refrained. Instead, he kept his fury pent up inside him, letting it consume him. He held onto it, honed it, channelled it straight through his fingertips and over his keyboard, into his imaginary but painfully real world.

 _One last, swift blow to the stomach was all it took to send him to his knees. Yuu towered above him, watching with satisfaction as he retched and dribbled fluids onto the ground; blood and spittle and vomit._

" _Disgusting…"_

His fingers were a blur now. His writing was riddled with typos and he was probably going to break his laptop if he didn't slow down, but he didn't care. He kept going.

 _The miserable creature quaked as he looked up at the police officer. His eyes would probably be wide with terror if they weren't so swollen and black from Yuu's punches. Yuu matched those eyes; they were the colour of cold steel._

" _Did you think I'd let you touch my partner?"_

 _He slammed his boot into the man's chest, sending him flying onto his back. He thudded to the concrete not far from Hitomi, who scrambled away as Yuu walked slowly forwards. Kneeling, he straddled the man's stomach, grabbing a fistful of black hair at the roots. It was clotted with gore._

 _Yuu forced his battered face upwards by his hair, leaning in so close as to feel the man's vile breath on his skin. A muscle in his cheek spasmed as he spoke through clenched teeth._

" _How dare you drag her into your fucked up little game?"_

His typing sounded like hailstones on a tin roof.

 _There was a roaring in Yuu's ears as he reached with shaking, red-soaked hands for the man's throat. His fingers tightened._

" _Answer me, you piece of filth!" he screamed, spitting. He squeezed harder still, drawing splutters and wheezes from the man. "How dare you touch her? How_ dare _you?!"_

 _Nails dug into the man's neck, leaving bloody furrows in their wake. He began to gargle. Yuu clenched that throat until his knuckles were white, crushing his windpipe, choking every last bit of life from this abhorrent, repulsive, d-_

"Sensei?"

The sudden voice beside him jolted Akihiko out of his world. He made a frustrated noise- halfway between a growl and a grunt- and whipped his head to the side. "What?"

His editor was standing by his chair. Her hands were loosely clasped together in front of her chest, and even in the dim light, he could see her eyes glisten in a troubled manner. Her legs were frozen in a half-step. She looked like a child trying to approach a savage wolf.

"Are… Are you okay?"

Why did she look so frightened? Akihiko hadn't even noticed the soreness in his facial muscles; his expression had been cast in a granite mould for hours. He realised he was panting ever so slightly, and shook his head.

"I'm fine. I'm just trying to write."

"You've been in here for a long time," Aikawa-san said, taking a tentative step towards him. "Maybe you should take a break?"

He glanced at his computer screen. "I can't. I'm right in the middle of this scene…"

Catching sight of the clock, Akihiko trailed off. He'd been writing nonstop for over four hours. His pack of smokes was very nearly empty, and he hadn't had one drink. His mouth was dry.

"Chapters thirteen through fifteen were great," said Aikawa-san. Her tone wasn't as excited as usual, but it was still airy enough to irritate Akihiko. "I barely had to change a thing."

He grunted. She cleared her throat.

"Can I read what you've just written?"

Restless, lavender eyes flickered again towards his laptop. The unfinished sentence was gnawing at him, begging him to write on. He had to get this scene out quickly, before his anger dissipated…

But Aikawa-san was giving him one of her looks. He didn't want her to worry; she was annoying when she was worried.

He pushed away from his desk, wheeling to the other side of the room. "Fine, but be quick."

While she bent over his laptop, Akihiko took out one of his two remaining cigarettes and lit up, inhaling a long, deep breath of toxic air. The little office was stifling; he'd thrown off his jacket, loosed his tie and unbuttoned his collar and cuffs long ago, but the author wouldn't open the windows. He wanted to be sealed away- which was why he found himself rather impatient for his editor to hurry and leave.

Unfortunately, his burst of rage-fuelled creativity had resulted in almost thirty pages of prose, meaning that by the time Aikawa-san was finished, Akihiko was drumming his fingers against the chair's armrest. They itched for the keyboard. He stared at his editor, waiting, and had to hold in a groan at the sight of her face, illuminated in the dim room by the light of the screen. It had taken on that particular expression that usually meant she disliked something about his writing- and was about to nag him about it.

"Sensei, this is…"

"Bad?" He scooted closer, trailing smoke behind him. "I'll listen to your edits later, okay? Right now, I just really want to finish the scene- no, the chapter."

He tried to reach past her for his computer, but she blocked him. Her normally flawless forehead was creased.

"It's not _bad_ , per se, but it's kind of… disturbing."

Akihiko quirked an eyebrow. "Disturbing? How so?"

"Well, this last scene here is very violent…"

"Of course it is," he scoffed. "It's a fight scene."

"Yeah, but…" Scrolling back through the pages, Aikawa-san's perceptive, analytical eyes scanned over the text a second time. "In the earlier chapters, your writing felt sort of sad and gloomy, but now there's this _aggressive_ tone to the whole thing." She looked around at Akihiko, still frowning. "Honestly, it's really uncomfortable to read."

The novelist huffed. He pushed his chair forwards and nudged his editor to the side. "Maybe that's what I was going for. Now, get out of my way so I can finish, would you?"

A crack rang out as he flexed his fingers, ready to dive back into his writing zone. Aikawa-san, however, refused to step away from his computer. He scowled at her, only for her to scowl to right back.

"You've been cooped up in here for hours," she said, using her infuriating 'I-know-best' voice. "Can't you stop and talk to me for ten minutes?"

" _No_ ," Akihiko said, tapping away ash. "Stop pestering me. I have to get back to work."

She angled her head to the side. "I'm usually the one trying to _make_ you work."

A supressed growl caught in the back of his throat. She was so damn persistent… "Will you please just leave me alone? I want to get this chapter done."

He needed to be alone, to lose himself in the story again.

Folding her arms across her chest, Aikawa-san planted herself between him and his keyboard, blocking the door to Akihiko's world of words. He had to lean back in his leather chair to look up at her.

"More like you just don't want to talk about what your dad said."

Leather squeaked as Akihiko gripped the armrests. After his father had left, he'd walked away and shut himself in his office without a word to Aikawa-san. He was hoping she'd leave, too, but she'd stayed in the living room editing his latest chapters- probably waiting for him to come and confide in her. It appeared she'd run out of patience; Akihiko was, too.

"That's my personal business, and I _don't_ want to discuss it right now," he ground out.

"Well, what are you going to do? Pretend all your problems don't exist by hiding in a fictional world?" When Akihiko looked up at her- shocked and a little offended- she sighed. "I know writing about stuff helps you deal with it, and I'm glad. But this,"- she grabbed the red photograph and wiggled it- "is serious. Writing won't make it go away."

Akihiko swivelled his chair away from her, sulkily smoking. "Neither will talking."

A click of the tongue.

"You know that's not true," she said. "Now, stop acting like a child and have a face-to-face conversation with me."

 _Don't tell me what to do, woman._ Akihiko ignored her, crossing his stiff legs, and heard her make an exasperated noise.

"Oh, sensei, this is ridiculous. You can't sit and pout in the dark whenever something bad happens…"

To underline her point, she clip-clopped over to the light switch and drenched the room in sudden brightness. Akihiko hissed, shielding his strained eyes with one arm. After muttering that he wasn't a vampire, Aikawa-san perched on the edge of his desk, the tips of her shoes just brushing against the floorboards.

"We need to figure out a solution to this, Usami-sensei."

"You think I don't know that?"

"Well, it doesn't seem like you're even trying," she said- which was true enough, Akihiko supposed, but he wasn't going to admit that. Biting her lip, the editor look from the photograph and back to him.

"You… You aren't _actually_ thinking of marrying her, right?"

No, he wasn't- at least, he was trying not to. The idea made bile rise in his throat. But even more unbearable was the thought of yet again hurting his dear Misaki…

At his silence, Aikawa-san's jaw dropped a little. "Sensei. You can't really be considering this."

Her voice was shaky, on the verge of a nervous laugh, but Akihiko's face remained deadly serious.

"You heard him, Aikawa-san," he said, slumping forwards in his seat. "He's got my hands tied. If I don't do what he wants, both Misaki and I are fucked."

Aikawa-san wrung her hands. "Are you sure he's not bluffing?"

He shook his head, taking a drag. "My father doesn't bluff. When he says he'll do something, he'll do it."

That said, they fell into contemplative silence. The remaining red light faded from the room as the sun went down, and the first few stars appeared out in the darkened sky. Everything was still save for the thin plume of smoke drifting from the cigarette between Akihiko's lips- when, after a few minutes, Aikawa-san slowly shook her head.

"This isn't fair. You can't let your dad do this to you," she said, looking urgently at him. "There's got to be a way out."

"There isn't, Aikawa-san," said Akihiko. "You know how the media will react if they find out about Misaki and me- and, scandal or no scandal, my father can make Isaka-san do whatever he wants," he added. He eyed the photograph in his editor's hand with obvious contempt. "I marry Sakae Yamato, or Misaki and I become a national disgrace and lose our places in the publishing industry for good."

"But, sensei," said Aikawa-san, leaning forwards on the desk. "You _can't_ marry a person you could never love. You just can't- the idea alone is ludicrous."

 _You can say that again._ Akihiko imagined himself putting a ring on Sakae Yamato's finger, and shuddered.

"I know it is, but what am I supposed to do?" He ran a hand over his chin. "I can't let my father expose us- it's not fair to Misaki."

"So, what, you're just going to give in and let your dad win?"

He glowered. "No!"

"Then, what are you going to do?" she asked.

Closing his eyes, Akihiko released a long, smoky sigh. One large hand was tensed over his face.

What _was_ he going to do?

"Sensei?"

"I don't know," he said, throwing up his hands. "I just don't know."

An awkward few moments passed by without any words. Aikawa-san fidgeted where she sat, but for once it seemed she couldn't think of anything consoling to say. Eventually, Akihiko's weary eyes wandered to his computer again.

"Just go, Aikawa-san."

She hesitated. "But, Usami-sensei-"

"Please," he interjected, and looked at the floor. "I… need to be alone."

"… Okay, then."

Reluctantly, she slid off the desk and made her way to the exit, skirts swishing. Before she closed the door, she looked over her shoulder and said,

"Don't stay up too late, okay?"

"I won't."

They each managed a small, watery smile in each other's direction. Then she left, and Akihiko was in peace again. He rolled up to the desk and opened his laptop, feeling his energy return to him as the pages of his story glowed and came to life in front of him.

He ignored the ache of his sleep-craving body as he started typing again. There was a glimpse of red just inside his vision, and he clenched his teeth.

He wanted to hide in that room, writing away his worries, forever.

* * *

" _Stop it!"_

Misaki jolted awake in his small futon, pyjamas sticking to him as his breath came in ragged gasps. His heart was racing. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks.

It was so dark… He could still see them. The ruined mass of metal on the road, the splattered blood, the mangled bodies. The coffin, and the furious, resentful faces of his brother and the rest of their family.

" _Your fault,"_ they kept saying. _"Your fault, your fault, your fault…"_

More tears welled and flooded the panicking boy's face. Confused, terrified and desperate for comfort, he stretched out an arm and reached for the strong, warm body beside him…

Cold sheets slithered over his hand.

Slowly, Misaki's breathing evened out. As the salty tears dried on his skin, he looked around, the blurred features of the room gradually sharpening and becoming recognisable in the dim light. He felt the empty space beside him.

 _He's not here. You left him. He's gone now._

His fingers tightened, balling up the sheets beneath his hand. Once his trembling had subsided, Misaki managed to roll onto his side and curl up, feeling around for the velvety fur of his rabbit plush.

He clutched the toy to his chest as he breathed in darkness. The sweat soaking him was already turning cold, sending goosebumps running up and down Misaki's limbs. He shivered, huddling further beneath the blanket.

It was going to be another long night.

* * *

 **I may edit this chapter at some point in the future.**

 **I'm back at school now and I'm working on a request, but the next chapter should be up within a week or so. As always, thank you for reading, and _please_ leave me a review- they really help me out.**

 **I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I'll see you guys next time. I won't spoil anything, but in the next chapter or the one after it, there may finally be some more interaction between our two protagonists... ;)**


	29. Chapter 29

**Sorry this took twice as long as expected, guys. I planned to have this finished for last weekend, but as well as writing that request, I was travelling from Friday until Tuesday and then I have to go straight back to school, so I've been exhausted! This chapter is nice and long to make up for the wait, though.**

 **In this chapter I wanted to explore Ijuuin's character a bit more, because he always seemed to me like there's more to him than meets the eye. I'm unsure as to how people will react to him in this chapter, so please be aware before you read that this is MY personal interpretation of his character; not much of his true colours have really been revealed in the source material.**

 **Anyway, I hope that you like the chapter. This is another one that I've stayed up quite late finishing, so please inform me of any typos or things that simply don't make sense. :P**

* * *

"No. _Way!_ "

Todo's eyes went as round as dango balls as he held the ticket up in front of them. His jaw was hanging loose on its hinges. "Takahashi, is this real?!"

"One hundred percent genuine," said Misaki. His own ticket was tucked safely in his jeans pocket. "Kirishima-san gave them to me."

A surprisingly feminine squeal escaped his friend. "This is so super fantastic! I can't believe I'm going to the premier of _The Kan: The Movie!_ "

Neither could Misaki, if he was honest; he'd been flabbergasted when his boss had just handed him the two sacred tickets like they were supermarket coupons or something. Only a select few were granted access to the premier of such a hugely anticipated movie, and being Ijuuin's sub-editor and nothing more, Misaki hadn't at all expected a ticket for himself, let alone two.

He'd tried to offer Shizuku the spare ticket, but had only received a glower and a frosty refusal in return. So, he'd headed straight to Todo's instead. His tall friend was beaming at the glossy slip of paper in front of him.

"Thank you so much, Takahashi!" he said, sounding like he really, truly meant it. "I absolutely can't wait!"

He forced his mouth into a grin. "No problem! Me either."

In all honesty, Misaki was exaggerating his own excitement; not because he wasn't looking forward to the movie, but because there were other, more pressing things on his mind. Firstly, his failure to get a good night's sleep in the past week (stupid nightmares), and second, the task that awaited him after this brief visit to Todo's.

"Want to come in and play video games?" Todo asked, motioning to his apartment (Misaki's efforts had gone to waste; it was a dumpster again). Though he longed more than anything for a chance to kick back with his friend for once, Misaki shook his head.

"Sorry, Todo. I have to go to sensei's right now." His stomach tightened just a little as he said this, remembering everything Kirishima-san had told him.

Ijuuin was presently in one of his slumps, and Kirishima-san had asked Misaki to try and coax him out of it when he went over (mostly because he needed the new volume of _The Kan_ ). He still didn't know quite low his artist would be when he arrived and was more than a little afraid of finding out.

The aspiring policeman looked like a wounded puppy upon hearing this. "You get to visit him all the _time_ now- It's so unfair!"

Misaki laughed. "It's not always as fun as you'd think. Even sub-editing for that guy is a ton of work- especially when he's doing his hermit thing."

"Hermit?" Todo echoed, frowning. Misaki's reaction when Kirishima-san had used the term had been the same.

"Sensei sometimes has doubts about his work, you see," Misaki explained, repeating what his boss had told him. "Every few months or so, he goes into a slump and holes himself up in his house for days."

The young editor had caught glimpses of Ijuuin in his reclusive phases, but had yet to experience the mangaka at his worst. Kirishima-san had warned him it was unpleasant.

Todo looked even unhappier at Misaki's words.

"That's awful," he said. " _The Kan_ is a masterpiece. I can't believe Ijuuin-sensei would doubt himself for even a minute."

Misaki couldn't have agreed more. If only Ijuuin could see that for himself… Misaki hadn't heard from the man in almost a week and was seriously starting to worry about him.

"He'll be happy to hear that," he said to Todo. "I'll tell him what you said when I see him next."

A huge, toothy grin overtook Todo's face. He nodded, starry-eyed. "Please do, Takahashi! And thank you again for the ticket! Premier night's going to be the best night ever!"

* * *

Despite it only being Ijuuin, his friend, behind the door, Misaki actually felt a little nervous as he knocked. If the brief snatches he'd seen of the mangaka when he was in a rut were anything to go by, Ijuuin was likely very unstable at the moment. Misaki hoped more than anything that he wouldn't say something insensitive and set him off; the last thing he wanted to do was worsen his idol's state.

 _Just follow Kirishima-san's advice, and you'll be fine_ , he reassured himself as he pressed the buzzer. _Besides, it's only Ijuuin-sensei._

Although, Misaki had realised after talking with Kirishima-san that there was really an awful lot he didn't know about his friend. His boss hadn't gone into too much detail, but he had told Misaki that Ijuuin's slumps were more than just occasional lapses in confidence, like Misaki had originally thought. Apparently, a few years ago the mangaka had been in his 'dark' state almost constantly.

"He's been a lot better since you got him back on his feet that time," Kirishima-san had said. "But he still has… setbacks now and then."

A full minute passed without a sound from inside, so Misaki took a deep breath, braced himself, and pressed the buzzer again.

Immediately, there was a scream from inside.

" _Shut the hell up!"_

Removing his hands from his ears, Misaki pressed the button and spoke into the intercom. His heart beat a little faster.

"It's me, sensei. I'm here to help you finish your manuscript."

Silence.

"Will you open the door, please?" He tried to sound the way Kirishima-san had advised: calm but firm.

After a few moments, Ijuuin answered him, though it was nowhere near as volatile as his first response.

"Go'way, Misaki…" he mumbled. It sounded like he was in the living room.

 _Be level-headed. Don't get annoyed._ "I can't go away, sensei. You need to let me in so we can finish the next _The Kan._ "

"No… Don' want you to see me like this…"

That saddened Misaki, but he didn't show it. "I've already seen you like this, sensei," he said patiently. "Anyway, it's only me- your friend."

No answer.

"I'm going to come in anyway if you don't open up." He knew the key code by now, but he was hoping he'd be able to convince Ijuuin to willingly let him in.

No such luck. Only silence came from behind the door, and Misaki, sighing, punched in the code.

The mess inside made Todo's look mild by comparison. Ijuuin's apartment was in shambles, with clutter covering all but a few square inches of floor. Most of it was leftover food- takeout containers or bowls with curry congealing in the bottom of them- and a good deal of it was empty glass bottles, the alcoholic contents of which could still be sniffed in the air. The curtains were drawn and the room dim, but Misaki could quite clearly make out a dark shape, lying motionless on the couch.

He walked forwards. "Ijuuin-sensei?"

"Lea' me 'lone..."

His face was hidden in one of the cushions. Stepping over a heap of crumpled clothes, Misaki opened the blue curtains, keeping an eye on the mangaka as he did so. "Let's have some light in here, yeah?"

A dark, sleep-wild head of hair lifted as the room lightened. Ijuuin's usually attractive eyes were swollen and dark-rimmed, squinting against the brightness. He looked up at his editor.

"Misaki…"

The smell of whisky was even stronger now that Misaki was closer to him, and there was an empty glass on the floor beside the couch. He was about to ask 'Are you drunk?'- but the answer was obvious that he didn't bother.

"Hello, sensei," he said simply instead. Gingerly, Misaki sat down beside him on the armrest. A pause. "Having a rough couple of days?"

He was trying to be as gentle as he could, unsure of how precarious Ijuuin currently was. Although it was stained and littered with crumbs, Ijuuin turned his face back into the cushion.

"'M not drawing…" he said, muffled. Misaki nodded, even though the mangaka couldn't see him.

"I won't make you draw right away, if you don't want to." When Ijuuin didn't respond, Misaki rubbed his wrist awkwardly. There were dust motes floating around, and he stifled a sneeze. "Um… Maybe I could help you clean up?"

His head moved weakly from side to side. "Don' have to do that…"

"Then… Would you like to talk?" Kirishima-san had said simply listening to Ijuuin might help him.

At first, it seemed like Ijuuin wasn't going to answer, and Misaki thought maybe his drink-addled artist wasn't fully aware of his surroundings. Eventually, though, he stirred, pushing himself sluggishly up on his arms. One of his hands slipped as he did so, almost falling of the couch.

"Careful, sensei," Misaki said, helping him into a sitting position. As Ijuuin slumped forwards, elbows resting on his knees and a distinct dullness to his eyes, Misaki felt his sensitive heart ache a little. He was doing his best to stay calm and collected like Kirishima-san told him, but seeing his friend- well, anyone, really- like this was hard.

It was a while before Ijuuin would speak. When he did, his voice was flat and slightly slurred.

"My manga sucks."

It was such a ridiculous, melodramatic thing for an acclaimed mangaka like Ijuuin to say- but he sounded so _serious_. Misaki couldn't believe his idol would truly feel that way about his amazing work. _The Kan_ was a masterpiece- he knew it.

However, he also knew that Ijuuin must be in a pretty bad place to be talking like that; so bad that not even Misaki's usual fanboying would bring him out of it. No, he'd have to do this gradually if he wanted Ijuuin to start drawing again.

"Why do you think it sucks, sensei?"

Ijuuin shrugged, a clumsy kind of galumphing of his shoulders.

"It jus' does. It never looks how I want it to." He was swaying slightly where he sat. "I can s-see in my head, how I want it to look, but… but it always comes out awful."

It was a real struggle for Misaki to hide his surprise. He'd never heard his sensei sound so negative before- not even three years ago, when they first met.

"Do you really think it's that bad?" he asked. "Even though it has so many millions of fans?"

Heavily, Ijuuin breathed in through his nose and exhaled. "I dunno. I jus' feel like I should be doing better. No matter what they all say…"

He turned his head slightly as he said this, and Misaki followed his gaze. There on the coffee table was a ring binder, lying open-faced on top of a pile of magazines. There were more, similar ones scattered around the couch.

Misaki picked up the closest one and flipped through it; it was full of letters, carefully preserved in shiny, plastic wallets.

"Is this fan mail?"

The mangaka was watching the pages of the binder turn with bleary eyes. He confirmed it with a mumble.

"I read those when I start having doubts. They cheer me up… usually," he added, the line between his brows deepening. Sulkily, he reached down to his feet and produced an unopened bottle of whisky that Misaki had failed to notice.

He fidgeted nervously as Ijuuin poured himself another drink, amber liquid glugging into the glass.

"Um, sensei, maybe you shouldn't… Okay, then," he said as the mangaka drained the whole thing one go. "But, make that the last one for today, alright?"

Kirishima-san's final and biggest warning was that whatever state Ijuuin was in, alcohol would only make it worse.

It took a second or two for him to process Misaki's words, but when he did, Ijuuin did something Misaki had never seen him do before: he scowled.

"You sound jus' like Kirishima."

The glass was on the table now, but he was still gripping it tightly. Misaki wanted to take it away, but he could sense a rising outburst within his artist and was desperate to keep it at bay.

Tentatively, he slid off the armrest and onto the seat beside Ijuuin, who was still staring into his empty glass.

"I'm just trying to help you out, sensei."

Ijuuin snorted at that. "You jus' want me to draw… More drawing, drawing, drawing…" he muttered. "Every day it's the same thing. And it's never any good…"

"It _is_ good," said Misaki, interrupting his lamentations. "Lots of people think your work is amazing, sensei- see?"

He showed him the binder full of breathless, gushing fan letters. Ijuuin looked but didn't speak, so he carried on.

"And it's true, I do want you to draw," he said. He was flicking slowly through the pages of the binder, letting Ijuuin read. "But only because I think it'll make you realise you're not as bad as you think you are. At all."

The mangaka stared at the letters, but nothing in his lustreless blue eyes changed. Thought composed on the outside, inside Misaki was growing distressed. He wanted so badly for his idol to remember how amazing he was, how many people loved him, how much he meant to Misaki and all those other fans…

But the mangaka only looked annoyed.

"You're not my fan anymore," he slurred. Misaki could smell the whisky on his breath from where he was sitting. "You're my editor now… You don' care if what I draw's crap, as long as I draw it before a deadline…"

He rubbed a hand over his unshaven face as he spoke, refusing to look at Misaki. The editor sighed. He knew Ijuuin didn't really mean what he was saying, but it hurt nonetheless.

Climbing off the couch, he knelt beside the mangaka, peering past tangled, ebony hair into a sullen face. Kirishima-san had told him to be firm, but he couldn't help himself; if he had to be a little unprofessional to get his sensei back in high spirits, so be it.

"Ijuuin-sensei? I'm going to tell you something, and I want you to believe me, okay?"

His eyes slowly swivelled towards Misaki's, who held them.

"I may be your editor now, but I'm your friend and your fan first. And I always will be." Ijuuin's eyes widened just a fraction, and Misaki chanced a smile. He patted the mangaka's knee. "Right now, I don't care about you meeting your deadline- I just want you happy and doing what you love again. 'Kay?"

He'd hoped for Ijuuin to smile back, so he was surprised and dismayed to see those blue irises glistening with tears. Had he said something wrong?

"Sensei, are you-"

"You're so kind, Misaki."

It was said in a small, sad whisper that caught Misaki off guard. Even more unexpected was the sudden warmth of Ijuuin's hand covering Misaki's, holding it against his knee.

"Shizuku was never like you… I've never met _anyone_ like you…" he murmured. "Misaki…

"Yours are my favourites, you know." When Misaki gave him a puzzled, look, he gestured to the binder full of letters. "They make me the happiest… I saved them, every last one…"

Slowly, he leaned back into the couch cushions and closed his eyes. His hand slipped away from Misaki's as he did so. The editor himself was unsure of how to respond. He never knew what to do when Ijuuin started saying things like this…

 _It's just drunken rambling_ , he told himself. Ijuuin was still muttering softly under his breath, and Misaki cleared his throat, eyeing the kitchen door.

"Maybe I should make you some coffee-"

"How long are you going to do this?"

Misaki turned back to him. "Huh?"

"How long are you going to torture me for?"

Green eyes widened in shock, and Misaki gasped at the sudden accusation. Ijuuin was avoiding his eyes- gazing into the fabric of the couch cushions- but Misaki had a clear view of his expression from where he stood, and it was unlike anything he'd ever seen from his idol before. It was dark, and cold, and miserable.

"I've been so… I've been so patient," he said. The words were completely melding into one another now, making the mangaka's speech near incomprehensible. "You said you needed time, s-so I waited… I stopped asking you. I didn't touch you like I wanted to…"

As Misaki stood frozen in front of him, helpless, Ijuuin looked back up at him. His face was haggard. The skin around his eyes crinkled as he fixed his editor with a stare so longing, so desperately lonely that it tied Misaki's stomach in knots.

"How long, Misaki?" he asked. His voice had become a despairing moan. "How long will it take for you to love me?"

A blaze rose to Misaki's cheeks. He found he couldn't look Ijuuin in the eye, and stared at the floor instead. He hated seeing his friend like this. If only he could make him happy… If only he could just tell him what he wanted to hear… But, what was the use in lying?

"Sensei," he said finally, wringing his hands. Oh, he felt so mean… But he had to say it. "I told you… I love and respect you as a mangaka and I value you as a friend, but that's all. I… I don't feel anything more for you."

That was the truth. And it was cruel, yes, but wouldn't it be crueller to lead Ijuuin on- to give him a false sense of hope, a feeling that Misaki knew all too well?

Ijuuin stared at him for a long time. Then, his eyes lowered miserably again, followed by his head, and Misaki felt like a murderer.

"I'm very sorry, sensei," he said, bowing. His cheeks were crimson. "I just don't-"

"'S because I'm not him…"

"What?"

Abruptly, Misaki straightened. Now it was his turn to stare at Ijuuin. Was he saying…?

"Sensei, that's not it," he said after a short silence. For some reason, it felt funny to speak, like he was choking on air. "I don't… I d-don't love him anymore."

That was also the truth, wasn't it? "But, just because I don't love _him_ , that doesn't mean I love y-"

" _You're lying!"_

Misaki jumped, startled. Ijuuin had jolted forwards with his sudden shout- knocking over several sheaves of paper- but he sank back into the cushions almost immediately. His face had turned a pale, ashy colour.

"You're lying…" he mumbled as the paper rattled and fluttered to the floor. His eyelids were drooping, drifting up and down. "'S always been him… No matter how hard I tried, I could never be better than _him_ …"

The drunken mangaka's voice was now so slurred that he was practically speaking in one long, continuous slew of words. As he continued to ramble to himself, Misaki stood in front of the couch. His hands were twitching by his sides in agitation. Ijuuin was wrong. He didn't still love Usagi-san. That wasn't why he'd rejected him…

Suddenly, Misaki stopped and shook his head, whipping his dark locks from side to side. He remembered his conversation with Kirishima-san, and quickly grew angry with himself. What the hell was he doing? He was supposed to be pulling Ijuuin _out_ of his funk, not making it worse! What happened to 'calm' and 'professional' and 'firm'?

 _I'm such a self-absorbed idiot…_ Sighing to himself, he turned his attention back to his artist, who was slumped against the side of the couch, still droning.

"You've had too much to drink, sensei," he said as evenly as he could. "I'm gonna make you some coffee, okay? And then we're gonna clean up."

Ijuuin didn't say anything. As Misaki made for the kitchen- his insides churning horribly- he heard a quiet, but very clear question, posed in a bitter whisper from across the room.

"What does he have that I don't?"

Misaki closed the door behind him with a firm _click_. He took a long, shuddering breath, inhaling a dozen foul odours in the process. The kitchen was disgusting. It was also freezing, somehow, which only worsened Misaki's mood. He hadn't expected this. He didn't like it. He wanted his friend back to normal.

Thinking about everything Ijuuin had just said made Misaki- always overly empathetic- want to cry, He stopped himself, though, because he'd done enough of that after his dream last night.

Instead, he took out his phone. The coffee could wait.

"Kirishima-san? I think we're going to have to get sensei an extension on his deadline…"

* * *

The phone was ringing when Akihiko finally returned home. It was just past midnight as he trudged through the door- already yanking off his tie and kicking his smart shoes away- and was greeted with the shrill, demanding noise. He grumbled, strongly tempted to just unplug the damn thing- but, a call this late? Maybe it was important.

Mind made up, he grabbed the phone on the last ring. The author was already bringing a cigarette to his lips and lighting up as he answered, "Hello, Usami residence."

"Sensei?"

The lighter flame flickered as he flinched in irritation; it was just Aikawa-san, after all. A headache began forming at his temples at the mere sound of her voice.

"What's the matter, Aikawa-san?"

"What do you mean, what's the matter?" she replied, clicking her tongue into the receiver. "I've been calling you all night, and you didn't answer! I was getting worried! Where the hell were you?" she demanded.

Akihiko cringed as he remembered the evening's events. He was definitely not about to relay them to his editor.

"Sorry," he said, taking a long drag of smoke. "I had an important engagement. Had to switch my phone off."

"'Important engagement'?" To Akihiko's discomfort, there was a definite note of suspicion in Aikawa-san's voice. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"Doesn't matter." He hoped he sounded convincing. "Can I go now? I want to write."

From the other end of the line came only silence. For a second or two, Akihiko thought maybe they'd lost connection, but as he reached down to stub out his cigarette, his editor finally found her tongue. When she spoke, it was slow and incredulous.

"You didn't go and meet her father, did you?"

The cigarette buckled and spewed ash as Akihiko crushed it into the ashtray. His jaw tightened.

Should he tell her?

"Sensei? Sensei, answer me! Did you or didn't you?"

No. He put down the phone, all but slamming it into its cradle. He couldn't do it. He couldn't relive the horrible, endless evening he'd just endured. He didn't even want to think about it.

Though he was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to collapse on the couch, Akihiko made straight for the stairs, ignoring the growling of his stomach as he passed the kitchen. Food could wait; he needed his keyboard, and he needed it _now_.

Before retreating into his book, however, Akihiko first went to his room and stripped out of the new, stiff dinner suit he'd bought for that night. It was sleek and black and cost a small fortune. He hated it.

But not as much as he presently hated himself, he thought as he changed into his more comfortable clothes. He could still hardly believe he'd gone through with the evening (even if he hadn't agreed to marry Sakae yet). He didn't know why he'd done it. At the time, he'd been so anxious about what his father would do to him and Misaki and so desperate to get him off their backs, he'd agreed to meet the woman's father solely to put his mind at ease so he could write properly. But what he'd just been through had made him _seriously_ regret his decision… He shuddered, pulling on a T-shirt.

Fuyuhiko had looked so smug upon seeing him that it was a wonder Akihiko hadn't smashed his father's face in on the spot. Furthermore, the managing director of Yamato industries had quickly revealed himself to be the oiliest, snobbiest, most thoroughly repulsive man Akihiko had ever had the displeasure of meeting (he was worse than Haruhiko, and that was saying something) as he droned on and on in syrupy tones about Fuyuhiko's handsome, accomplished and well-mannered son who was sure to be a _perfect_ match for his daughter, presuming Akihiko consented to the arrangement… Everything about him had screamed 'rich, greedy asshole'. There was no _way_ Akihiko was going to be that guy's son-in-law…

He hoped.

Trying to push Sakae and her father from his mind for now, Akihiko pulled on his comfiest dark purple sweater. He could worry after he'd written; his book was rapidly nearing completion, and the ending had to be _perfect_.

The novelist had barely slept in days now, and his body craved rest; tired muscles screamed in protest as he slouched into his office. He didn't bother to turn on the lights- his eyes were too sore, anyway. Everything in the room was now permeated with the stench of stale tobacco, but Akihiko hardly noticed it anymore. He took a seat at his desk and flexed his fingers.

This would probably be the last time he sat down to write about Hitomi and Yuu, he realised as he scrolled through his almost-finished manuscript. Four hundred and sixty-two pages; one of the longest he'd ever written, and it wasn't even done yet.

This was it, then. Time to wrap up this strange, semi-autobiographical tale of his. It was time to end the story of the star-crossed cops. Maybe then, once his words were out there in the world and other people were reading them and feeling what he felt and crying in his stead, Akihiko would feel a little more at peace inside. He hoped he would.

With the way his future was looking after tonight, he was going to need it.

* * *

The phone rang again as he was working through the final chapter, but he paid it no heed. Nothing mattered but the story. Not Aikawa-san, not his father, not the fucking Yamatos… Only the story. It was the last chapter, the big finale, and he had to make it count.

His fingers rattled over the keys of his weary laptop. Its screen was dimming as Akihiko typed, too absorbed to plug in the charger. He was tired too, but it didn't matter. He was so close to finishing now... Before too long, he found himself writing the final scene.

" _I'm sorry, Yuu, but you can't erase the past. I thank you for helping me avenge my brother, I truly do. But… I can never love you again."_

Almost there… Why were his fingers so damn slow?

" _Hitomi… Is there no way I can change your mind?"_

" _There isn't."_

God, his head hurt... Where were his smokes? Dammit, he'd left them downstairs. Oh, well. Keep writing.

" _But I changed. I changed for you. Please let me prove it to you."_

Keep going…

" _I'll never let anyone hurt you again. I will cherish you for the rest of my life. I promise, Hitomi!"_

Keep going… Think of Misaki, think of him…

" _Please, give me another chance. I know I don't deserve it, but… please! You saved me, Hitomi."_

Was it Akihiko, or were the words in front of him starting to blur?

" _I can't live without you."_

He could hardly see what he was writing…

" _I love you..."_

He stopped. Akihiko's forehead was creased as he braced his hands against the desk. Why was his head suddenly so heavy? How long had he been writing?

He tried to check the clock, but the numbers had turned into fuzzy shapes. In fact, as Akihiko looked around, blinking rapidly, _everything_ had turned into fuzzy shapes. They were growing by the minute, spreading like huge, black and blue ink blots across his vision. Only then did Akihiko notice that his head was lighter than air, and there was a strange yet familiar buzzing in his ears, slowly blocking out the still-ringing phone…

He'd let it happen again, hadn't he?

 _Damn…_ thought Akihiko as his limbs weakened and the office started spinning. _I haven't finished yet_ …

The glowing computer screen was the last thing he saw before everything went black.

* * *

 **I know Ijuuin may seem OOC in this chapter, but remember he's not only in a bad place but also very, very drunk. I'm interested to hear what you guys think of this side of him.**

 **I'm sorry if the Ijuuin/Misaki shippers are disappointed. Rejecting Ijuuin just seemed to be what canon Misaki would do; he already rejected him in the anime, after all, so I doubted he'd suddenly fall in love with Ijuuin just because he's single now. Don't think anything is set in stone just yet, though...**

 **As always, thank you for reading and pleeease let me know what you thought of the chapter. I really love hearing from you guys and suggestions and opinions of any kind are super helpful (Hey Spockaholic, you still reading? I miss your reviews!). Also, if anyone could find the time to check out that request (It's a dumb, cracky thing called 'Uke Party!') that would be most helpful. :)**

 **As for what will become of our dear Akihiko, you'll have to wait until next time~ ;)**


	30. Chapter 30

**Yay, an update that didn't take two weeks! I can't believe this thing already has thirty chapters...**

 **First and foremost, I would like to thank each and every person who has reviewed my fic so far. I remember posting this story for the first time and thinking I'd be lucky to get two or three reviews per chapter. But now, somehow, I've hit three hundred! You guys have been so kind and helpful, and your comments have really encouraged me to keep getting better. So thank you, everyone. You're the best. ^_^**

 **Anyway, it was interesting reading your thoughts on Ijuuin last time- people seemed to like his dark side more than I expected. Well, stay tuned; there's more to come...**

 **In the meantime, enjoy chapter thirty. :)**

* * *

Misaki was sitting at his laptop in the cluttered _Japun_ office. He couldn't concentrate. One hand rested on the desk, absently rolling a pencil between his fingers, while the other hovered over his keyboard. He was supposed to be writing a proposal for sales about an upcoming manga series, but the little cursor had been blinking at the start of a blank page for nearly thirty minutes.

Misaki wasn't even looking at the screen anymore. He was staring at the ceiling, large, green eyes clouded with thought.

He couldn't stop thinking about what Ijuuin had said.

" _How long will it take for you to love me?"_

A pang of guilt pinched his heart whenever he remembered that. He hated seeing his friend so miserable as it was, but realising that it was partially his fault was excruciating for Misaki; he couldn't stand causing others pain, and yet he'd been unwittingly subjecting his very own idol to the same torture he, Misaki, had had to endure himself.

He knew how it felt to love someone who didn't love him back.

A sigh escaped Misaki's lips, and he tapped the pencil against the wooden desk. He was conflicted. The mangaka's woeful, drunken confessions earlier had made his editor realise that perhaps it wasn't okay for him to be Ijuuin's friend like he'd thought… Not if it was hurting him. Maybe, he thought, he should just be Ijuuin's editor and nothing more; it would be easier for both of them that way.

 _Or maybe…_

The pencil ceased its tapping. Misaki stilled, lowering his gaze.

Maybe… he should give Ijuuin a chance?

He felt his already tense brow furrow at the thought. Misaki wasn't sure why the idea didn't sit right with him; wasn't Ijuuin his perfect match, after all? Aside from being an amazing mangaka, he was also kind, and good-looking, and funny. If Misaki was completely honest, he'd had something of a fanboy crush on the man for years. But when he thought about actually _dating_ him…

A hot flush rose to his face, and Misaki shook his head, typing furiously. It was no good. Much as he loved Ijuuin-sensei as an artist, he simply couldn't imagine doing 'those' kinds of things with him; it was too weird.

Besides, Misaki was his editor now. It would be inappropriate. Plus, Ijuuin dating a fan ten years his junior? That would just be strange. Yes, that was it; that was why he was reluctant to go out with Ijuuin.

It _definitely_ had nothing to do with Usagi-san.

… Okay, maybe it had a _tiny_ bit to do with him- Not that Misaki still had a thing for the author or anything. But after his first, brutal heartbreak, he found himself extremely wary of getting too emotionally invested in anyone and was in no hurry whatsoever to find himself a new boyfriend. What Usagi-san had put him through… He never wanted to feel anything like it again.

 _But, is there any need to worry? Ijuuin-sensei loves you. Usagi-san didn't._

Fingers slowed over the keyboard, his typing coming to a grinding halt.

 _Usagi-san never loved me_ …

For some reason, ever since the hospital Misaki always felt funny saying that. Kind of like… he was deluding himself? He gritted his teeth, stabbing away at the computer keys. It was infuriating how that stupid rabbit could so easily sway him with only a pat on the knee and a hot chocolate.

Maybe Ijuuin was right, after all. Maybe he wasn't over Usagi-san…

Again, he stopped (it would be Christmas before this proposal was finished…) and frowned, trying to mentally shake some sense back into himself. He was being silly. It had been months; he _didn't_ still miss Usagi-san.

 _Says the grown man who sleeps with a toy rabbit his ex-boyfriend gave him._

Biting back a groan of frustration, Misaki pounded his fists against the keyboard. A jumble of letters and numbers appeared on his proposal. He _hated_ all these confusing feelings. Shitty Usagi…

A thought occurred. _If I try going out with sensei, will it help me to move on…?_

"You okay, Takahashi?"

Jumping, Misaki jerked his head up and saw Kirishima-san standing beside him, mobile phone in hand. Around him, the other editors were busily going about their duties. He looked away from his boss, ashamed to have been the only one not doing any work.

"Uh, yeah, sorry, Kirishima-san," he said. "Just having a bit of writer's block with this proposal…"

"Well, better hurry it up. Yokozawa wants that in by six," said Kirishima-san, but in his usual, laid-back kind of way. He held his phone out towards Misaki. "Here. Kyo wants to talk to you."

 _Crap_. Misaki was frozen for a second, but as he was unable to refuse he reached out and took the telephone, bringing it tentatively to his ear.

"H-hello?"

"Misaki?"

He breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of him; Ijuuin's voice, while still a little flat and hoarse, sounded neither drunk nor nearly as angry as when Misaki had last heard it.

"Hi, sensei," he said, swivelling around in his seat (Shizuku was glaring at him again, and it was very distracting). "How are you doing?"

Over the course of the past few days, Misaki had been working on the completed _The Kan_ pages from the office while Kirishima spent most of his time at Ijuuin's place, trying to cajole him into continuing. Only recently had he succeeded.

"I'm okay- The manuscript isn't going too badly."

"Oh, good!" Misaki smiled. That, at least, was progress. He wedged the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he got back to work, the good news having given him a creative boost. "So, is there anything you need help with?"

"No, I think I'm good for now, thanks." There was a pause, and he heard Ijuuin clear his throat. "Actually, Misaki… Kirishima-san said you came over a few days ago?"

Misaki cocked his head. "You mean you don't remember?"

"No, not really…" Ijuuin sounded uncharacteristically sheepish. "I was, um, pretty drunk- as I'm sure you could tell. I'm very sorry about that."

"And I'm also sorry for anything I might have said to you," he went on before Misaki could get a word out. "I'm sure I must have sounded like a complete idiot."

Misaki laughed kindly, wanting to lighten Ijuuin's bag of worries as much as he could. "You didn't say anything idiotic, sensei- Don't worry about it."

"Mm." He still sounded embarrassed. "Well, whatever I did say, please don't pay it any mind. I can be a bit, uh, melodramatic when I'm… Well, when I'm like this."

Once again, Misaki recalled Ijuuin's confessions from a few nights ago, realising that if the mangaka didn't remember that, he probably didn't remember Misaki's rejection, either. The editor couldn't decide whether that was for the better or worse.

"I understand, sensei," he said. He did his best to ignore the daggers of Shizuku's eyes in his back as he asked, "So, are you feeling better now? About your work?"

He hesitated. "A little. I'm still… less than my best, but hopefully it'll come to pass."

"It will," Misaki promised. "It always does."

While he couldn't claim to know exactly what Ijuuin was going through, Misaki's own experiences in the past had taught him that even the most hopeless of situations got better eventually. He was sure it would be the same for his idol.

A sigh came crackling through the phone as Misaki held it between shoulder and cheek. "Honestly, Misaki, I'm annoyed with myself. I'd vowed to never show you my most pathetic side…"

Misaki's heartstrings twanged.

"I didn't think you were pathetic at all, sensei," he said (earning a few inquisitive glances from the other editors). "We all go through rough patches now and again."

When Ijuuin spoke again, Misaki could hear the smile in his voice.

"How is it you always know how to cheer me up?"

Unable to stutter any words out, Misaki's only response was a bashful laugh. He saw Kirishima-san motioning for him to wrap it up, and so he quickly apologised to his artist and told him he had to get back to work.

"Good luck with the rest of the manuscript- I can't wait to read it!" he said, being encouraging like his boss had told him; Kirishima-san gave him an approving look.

"Thank you so much, Misaki," said Ijuuin warmly, and added, "I'm looking forward to going to the premier with you."

Misaki grinned. "Oh, me too! It's gonna be awesome!"

After they said their goodbyes, the chief editor took back his phone and exchanged a few more words with Ijuuin while Misaki got back to his proposal. This time, he managed at last to break through his mental block, and by the time Kirishima-san was finished talking to his artist, he was almost done.

"… That's fine. Do you think you can have it to me Friday? … Awesome. Thanks, Kyo- Hang in there, okay?" Flipping his phone shut, he looked down the long desk to where Misaki sat.

"I gotta say, Takahashi," he said, catching Misaki's attention, "I've never seen Kyo bounce back from one of his episodes so quickly. You must be really good at handling him."

"Oh, not really," said Misaki modestly. "I only made a mess of things the other day- it was you who snapped him out of it, Kirishima-san."

But the chief editor shook his golden head. "I couldn't have done it if you hadn't gone to cheer him up beforehand. I think I definitely made the right decision appointing you as sub-editor."

Though pleased by the praise, Misaki couldn't help but be a little bothered by Kirishima-san's tactlessness, as he said this in plain earshot of Shizuku. The former sub-editor had ceased glowering at his replacement and was now hunched over Hashimoto-sensei's manuscript, striking his red marker across the page in quick, sharp motions. Seeing his obvious anguish only added to the strong feelings of guilt that were already twisting at Misaki's insides.

"Well, I'm just glad he's drawing again," he said, keeping his tone light. Turning back to his laptop, he rattled off the last few lines of his proposal and hit 'print'. "I'm gonna take this down to sales, if that's okay, sir."

"Sure." Waving a hand in dismissal, Kirishima grinned and added, "But Yokozawa might be cranky. He was up pretty late last night."

Some of the other editors sniggered at the not-so-hidden meaning behind this, and Misaki smiled uneasily before leaving. On his way out of the editorial department, he glanced one last time at Kirishima-san. Misaki had long since caught onto the chief editor's relationship with Yokozawa, but it still seemed weird to him; he never would have pegged his sociable, easy-going boss as a match for that grizzly bear of a man.

In fact, Misaki thought to himself as he made his way through the building, the entire office seemed to be full of odd couples. Since the day he and Ijuuin had caught them in the storage room, Misaki had seen those two _Emerald_ editors Takano and Ritsu around a lot, and although they bickered constantly they seemed very close. He often heard Hatori (yet another _Emerald_ guy) flirting with one of his artists over the phone, and once Misaki had even had the mortifying experience of walking into the men's bathroom late one evening, only to run out of there in horror at the sound of two guys' voices from inside a stall; he didn't have to hear much to realise exactly what it was they were doing. Misaki hadn't seen either of them, but they'd sounded suspiciously like Isaka-san and his secretary, Asahina.

He sighed as he took the stairs to the basement, proposal clasped tightly in hand. Maybe it would be easier to stop thinking about his ex-boyfriend if he didn't work in such a couple-y place.

Reaching the sales department, Misaki felt a tingle of nervousness at the prospect of approaching scary Yokozawa-san, but it dissipated when he caught sight of a familiar redhead standing with her back to him. She was holding her phone to her ear and tapping her foot.

"Hello, Aikawa-san," he greeted her.

She turned, lowering her phone. "Oh, good morning, Misaki-kun. How are you…" she said, clearly distracted. Her voice was nowhere near as energetic as usual, and when she looked down at her device she scowled, clicking her tongue in irritation.

"Is something wrong?"

"Oh, it's just that godforsaken Usami-sensei," she grumbled. "I've been calling him since last night and he still won't pick up."

The mention of Usagi-san had Misaki's stomach doing weird things, but he tried to ignore it.

"Isn't that normal?" he said. "He's probably just been procrastinating."

It seemed like lifetimes ago that Misaki was yelling at Usagi-san for missing his deadline again; apologising to Aikawa-san over the phone; withholding sex and serving green peppers for breakfast, lunch and dinner until his lazy rabbit finished his work; only to subsequently find him awake at six in the morning, still at his desk, mechanically typing away like a robot until Misaki dragged him to bed and tucked him in…

Not that he missed that or anything.

Aikawa-san shook her head, shiny hair brushing her shoulders.

"Actually, he's been working on his manuscript non-stop. For once," she remarked, tucking her phone away. While she was digging around in her handbag, she continued crossly, "He just doesn't want to talk to me about this stupid fiancée situation. I don't know why he thinks he can avoid the subject like this…"

Something inside Misaki gave a violent lurch.

Retrieving whatever it was she was searching for, Aikawa-san looked up again. Seeing Misaki staring at her- frozen and slack-faced- she immediately realised her mistake, and clapped a hand over her lips.

"Ah, by which I mean, uh…" she said, frantically backpedalling.

Misaki didn't move. His heart was already pounding.

"Usagi-san… has a fiancé?" he croaked. Surely, he'd misheard her. No way would Usagi-san…

"Um…" Nervously, Aikawa-san looked at her watch. "Is that the time? I should really be going…"

She turned to leave, but Misaki- not concerned with hiding his distress - reached out and grabbed her wrist in a flash. " _Aikawa-san_."

She stopped and looked down at him, eyes wide to match his own. Misaki's grip on the woman was vice-like, but he barely noticed.

"Is Usagi-san marrying another man?" he slowly asked.

She bit her lip, looking away. "I'm not really supposed to talk about it…"

"Aikawa-san!"

She flinched at the sharp cry. Misaki knew in the back of his mind that he was probably being over the top, but he couldn't help it; this news had hit him too fast, too suddenly.

 _Fiancé…_

He was breathing fast as he stared up at Aikawa-san. It couldn't be; it wasn't possible. Usagi-san, getting _married_? After being so devoted to Takahiro for all those years? After stringing Misaki along for four? After only a few months? He wouldn't… Not Usagi-san…

 _Why wouldn't he? He's a jerk and a liar, remember?_

Despite himself, Misaki felt his heart leap up into his sinuses. Usagi-san…

How _could_ he?

Seeing the obvious urgency in his face, Aikawa-san's already weak resolve seemed to crumble. Her shoulders slumped.

"Okay," she said, gently tugging her wrist away from Misaki. Though still reluctant-sounding, she explained, "Nothing's been decided yet, but… Sensei's dad is trying to arrange an engagement to this woman. Whether or not he'll actually go through with it, I don't know," she told him- but Misaki wasn't even listening at that point. His mouth was agape.

"Did you say a woman?"

She nodded, frowning. "I'm as surprised as you are, believe me."

 _A woman?_

His mind reeling enough to make his head spin, Misaki backed up until he was leaning against the wall. His eyes had fallen to the floor.

"But that doesn't make any sense…"

Wasn't Usagi-san always a hopeless romantic, as well as a pervert? Agreeing to an arranged marriage seemed uncharacteristic enough as it was, but a _woman_? _Nobody_ in their right minds would marry someone they were never going to sleep with- least of all the sex-crazed rabbit Misaki knew so well.

Aikawa-san's made-up face was positively guilt-ridden. She bent a little at the waist. "I'm sorry for springing it on you like that, Misaki-kun."

It was then that Misaki's senses returned to him, and he realised how pathetic he must have looked. His cheeks rose in temperature. "That's okay," he said hastily. "I-it's not like I really care…"

At least, he _shouldn't_ have cared. But he knew he was lying, and Aikawa-san knew it, too. She rolled her eyes.

"Still in denial, I see."

Though she'd stopped trying to change Misaki's mind long ago, she still made it clear that she disagreed with his decision and was adamant that he was wrong about his ex. And while recently Misaki had been finding it hard to believe his own brain- that Usagi-san never really loved him- he had absolutely no trouble believing it now.

"No, I'm not," he said, scowling. He tipped his head back until it was resting on the wall and folded his arms. "I'm just confused. It seems so unlike Usagi-san to agree to something like that…"

Misaki could still remember the last time Usagi-chichi presented his son with a bride. Usagi-san had torn the picture in two right in front of his face.

Across the hall, Aikawa-san nodded her agreement. Her eyes were troubled and her hands restless, manicured fingertips dancing together as she let out a heavy sigh.

"I think…" After a moment's hesitation, she turned her gaze back to Misaki. "I think maybe, Usami-sensei just doesn't care anymore."

Misaki gave her a puzzled look, and she struggled to explain. "He keeps pretending like he's okay, but I can see him sort of, slipping. I don't think he even realises it himself, but…" Blue irises drifted down and glazed over. "I'm scared that soon, he's going to give up completely."

She looked so very afraid. And Misaki- although he tried to tell himself it didn't matter, he didn't care, it was only shitty Usagi- felt his already constricted chest tighten a notch.

"Why?" he asked. He tried to sound casual and failed utterly. "What's wrong with him?"

The older editor had been staring into space, lost in her own worries, but hearing Misaki ask this seemed to bring her back to life. She frowned at him, and tutted.

"Oh, _I_ don't know. Maybe the person who mattered to him the most _abandoned_ him."

Misaki supressed a sigh. "You're still on that?"

"Yes," she said frostily. "And if you had some sense, Misaki-kun, you'd agree with me."

This time, Misaki couldn't stop himself emitting a frustrated groan. He was sick of this; Usagi-san was the one that betrayed him, and yet it seemed absolutely everyone thought Misaki deserved ti feel guilty.

"Aikawa-san,he never loved me, okay? He loves my brother," he said. Something clicked in his mind, and his brow cleared. "In fact, that's probably what he's so upset about- Nii-chan's out of his reach and now I'm not there to be his stand-in anymore, so he's-"

"Oh, for God's sake, Misaki!"

He jumped, startled. Aikawa-san's demeanour had changed drastically; her delicate hands were balled into fists by her sides, and she was glaring down at Misaki.

"When are you going to realise how stupid you're being?" she demanded. When Misaki visibly shrank beneath her, however, her expression softened once more.

"… Look, I'm sorry," she said. Her tone seemed to teeter on the fence between understanding and annoyance. "I didn't mean to shout at you, but, open your _eyes_."

His eyes were, in fact, almost as wide as they could go, but they grew even larger at what Aikawa-san said next.

"Usami-sensei cares so much for you," She planted her hands on her hips for emphasis, "and you're still clinging to this half-baked idea that he's still in love with your brother just because you're too stubborn to admit you overreacted!"

The accusation shot through Misaki like a lightning bolt. He jolted upright, feeling his anger swell.

"Overreacted? I don't think it's overreacting when he tried to kiss my brother right in front of me- Not to _mention_ his little stunt with Kamijou-sensei!" he said. The older woman still refused to back down, and an exasperated Misaki spread his hands. "Aikawa-san, he never cared for me at all. It couldn't be more obvious."

If he cared so much, after all, why the hell was he thinking of marrying that woman?

Aikawa-san just shook her head. "You say that, but if you could hear the way he talks about you even now..."

"What?" said Misaki quickly- too quickly. He coughed. "Um… What does he say?"

Clearly, Aikawa-san could see straight through his 'casual' façade. She surveyed him for a second, eyes narrowed ever so slightly, before answering.

"If you really want to know, go ask him yourself."

"Huh?!"

"Go to his place and talk to him," she said, as though it were a perfectly reasonable request. "You still have your key, right? If anyone can knock some sense into him about this whole marriage deal, it's you."

Misaki was looking at her like she had two heads. "Are you kidding? I can't do that."

As _if_ he was just going to waltz into his ex-boyfriend's house for a chat!

Meanwhile, Aikawa-san had once again changed her manner; now she was giving Misaki a plaintive, pleading look- the same kind of face she used to use on Usagi-san when he tried to bail on his interviews.

"It would actually be really helpful if you could check on him for me. He hasn't been answering my calls all night, and I'm getting worried about him…"

Misaki shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "Why can't you go?"

"I would, but I have to go to a conference with another author today," she told him, and clasped her hands together. "Please? It would really put my mind at rest."

Though he usually tried to help people as often as he could, the very thought of returning to his home of four years made Misaki feel oddly sick. The idea of facing Usagi-san again was even worse.

"I don't want to talk to him…" he said, mumbling a little. "We'll just end up arguing."

Aikawa-san pursed her lips. "Fine then, you don't have to talk to him. But will you at least go and just make sure he's okay?"

He sighed, resting his hands inside his hoodie. "I just don't think it's a good idea."

"But, Misaki-kun…" The editor looked disappointed, but her expression quickly changed to one of alarm when she caught sight of the nearby wall clock. "Oh, I really do have to go now!"

Hurriedly, she hitched up the strap of her handbag, turning back to Misaki as she did so. "If you went to see sensei, though, I'd really appreciate it."

With that, she dashed up the stairs before he could reply, leaving a perfumey trail in her wake. Misaki watched her leave, lingering in the hallway. He'd forgotten why he even came down there in the first place; his entire brain was too busy trying to process what he'd just been told.

Usagi-san, getting _married_ …

Was he really as depressed about Takahiro as Aikawa-san said- so much so that he didn't care if his father married him off to a total stranger? Why didn't he just refuse like he always did? Why a _woman_?

And… And, why did Misaki have to be so bothered by it?!

 _Maybe… I should go and talk to him. Just to clear things up…_

Immediately, Misaki shuddered and started walking (the sooner he found Yokozawa-san, the sooner he could get back to the office and immerse himself in his work). No, he couldn't go. It would be way too awkward. And anyway, why should Misaki care what Usagi-san did with his life? Even if he _was_ getting married to a random stranger less than a year after he broke up with Misaki, with whom he'd stayed for far longer than that and yet never expressed any intention of marrying… what did it matter? It wasn't Misaki's problem. He didn't care about Usagi-san…

Even though he was so nice to Misaki at the hospital.

Even though he wasn't answering his phone.

Even though he might be in trouble.

He kept walking. It didn't matter. It wasn't like Misaki was _worried_ or anything.

* * *

With this mind-set in place, Misaki walked resolutely out of the office after work that day and turned left like he always did now, without even a glance in the opposite direction. He took about five steps- and then stopped in his tracks.

Misaki stared at the sidewalk for a long, long time. Then, he straightened up. He took a deep breath. And then, he turned right, like he always used to.

* * *

 **I think Aikawa-san basically said to Misaki what _everyone_ has been wanting to say to him since chapter eight. XD I get that Misaki is a total idiot in this chapter especially, but I'm just trying to keep him IC.**

 **The next chapter is already underway, and as school at this point is more or less a sit-off, I should be able to finish it fairly soon. For now, I hope you liked the chapter, and if you did (or even if you didn't) I'd love to hear from you.**

 **So, Misaki's off to Usagi-san's. How do you think that will go down? :D Thank you for reading and I'll see you guys soon!**


	31. Chapter 31

**Hi everyone.**

 **I hope you haven't been waiting too long for this chapter. I intended to have it up a lot sooner, but for various reasons my brain's been a bit all over the place this week, which has been awful for my writing DX Because of that, I am not too confident about this chapter, so please inform me of any points for improvement- I hate posting work I'm unsatisfied with, but I didn't want to keep you guys waiting.**

 **On another note, I was quite pleased with your responses to Misaki in the last chapter. So many fanfics seem to paint him as this innocent angel; it's nice to know this fandom is capable of getting mad at him. XD**

* * *

It was a still day, without the slightest breeze to disturb the lush, leafy suburb where the condominium was situated. The most expensive residential area in Tokyo was, at present, deserted- save for one small, lonely figure, standing in front of his old home.

Misaki gazed up at the gigantic, blocky building, wondering how it could feel so foreign and yet so familiar to him. Its walls were glowing a pinkish colour in the afternoon sunlight, and seeing it set Misaki suddenly awash with nostalgia. He felt, bizarrely, as if he were simply returning after a really long vacation. The idea caused a derisive snort to escape him. He inwardly scolded himself as he approached the sliding glass doors.

When they glided open before him, Misaki had to fight the hitch in his chest as the old lobby was revealed. He glanced around as he entered, half afraid that one of the residents would recognise him and ask where he'd been. Thankfully, the lobby- like the whole neighbourhood today- was quiet and empty.

It felt weird to be back. Everything- the pattern of the carpet, the pictures on the walls, even the _smell_ \- was exactly as Misaki remembered it. His footsteps became rapid and regular as he made for the elevator, matching his heartbeat.

 _I'm just going to swing by and make sure he's okay. That's all. There's nothing to be nervous about._

Misaki's stomach disagreed. As the elevator swept him skywards, it churned violently in protest. He wrapped his arms tightly around his middle as he ascended, breathing deeply to try and settle his nerves.

Was he doing the right thing here? He couldn't help but be unsure as he was carried upwards- closer and closer to the condo. Showing up unannounced at his ex-boyfriend's door was going to be awkward as hell, but on the other hand, Misaki couldn't deny it any longer: he was worried. He was very worried. Usually, Usagi-san sequestering himself away for weeks on end would be a slow news day, but Misaki couldn't shake the bad feeling he had about the whole fiancée situation. The novelist he knew would live on a diet of green peppers for the rest of his life before going along with something like that.

No, there was something fishy about the arrangement. And Misaki was going to get to the bottom of it. His fingers dug into his sides as he stood in the corner of the elevator.

He wanted- no, he _needed_ to know what was going through Usagi-san's head.

Seeing as the author lived all the way up in the penthouse, the elevator ride seemed to last an age. Misaki's legs were feeling awfully jelly-like by the time it finally slowed to a stop. Two steel slabs slid apart, and there- looking almost as though it had been waiting for him- was the entrance to Usagi-san's condo.

Misaki swallowed. The elevator doors stood politely to the sides, waiting, until he managed to wobble through them, and then they closed, leaving him stranded in the middle of the hallway. Slowly, he lifted his head and looked up at the door. It was a simple door, made of dark, polished wood. It used to feel so homely and inviting to Misaki, always there to welcome him after a long day. Now, however, it seemed to tower disdainfully above him, firmly closed with the sole intention of shutting Misaki out. _You shouldn't be here_ , it seemed to say. _You aren't wanted._

The rational part of Misaki's mind raised a brow at him. Was he really so afraid to visit his ex that he was demonising a door? Apparently so. The editor's finger shook as he raised it to the doorbell. His heart hammered harder against his ribs the closer he came to the tiny button, and nervous tingles were coursing down his spine like tidal waves. His finger dithered just above the bell, stuck, as if some invisible force were repelling it.

Finally, Misaki released the bursting breath within him and dropped his hand. He backed up against the closed elevator doors, clutching his dark, shaggy head in frustration.

 _Why_ was this so hard?

He shouldn't be making such a big deal out of simply seeing his ex-boyfriend. It wouldn't even be the first time they'd crossed paths since the breakup. Besides, it was only Usagi-san, for crying out loud. There was absolutely nothing to feel anxious about, so why couldn't Misaki ring the goddamn doorbell?

 _You know why_ , said the ever-present voice in his head. _It's because you're thinking of all that stuff Aikawa-san said before._

He slumped against the cool, smooth surface behind him, replaying Aikawa-san's words for the hundredth time. What did she mean, 'the way he talks about you even now'? Was… was it possible that Usagi-san really did have some feelings left for Misaki, even if they were only small? But if that was the case, why was he thinking of marrying someone else?

It shouldn't have mattered to Misaki either way. And once again, he tried to tell himself that it didn't. But as the questions continued to roll around in his head, it became clear to Misaki why he didn't want to ask Usagi-san: he was afraid to know the answers.

He glanced behind him. A troubled, green eye stared back at him, reflected in steel. He could just turn around and get back in the elevator, if he wanted to…

He turned back to the apartment's door. He pictured Usagi-san behind it, slipping slowly away as Aikawa-san described him. Maybe he'd been lying in bed without moving for days. Maybe he was smashing things against the wall, he did that sometimes. Maybe he was smoking four packs of cigarettes a day, or drowning himself in alcohol, or even crying…

The images were so real that Misaki could no longer stand it. Jerking upright, he inhaled sharply and stabbed his finger forwards, freezing when he heard the ring rattle through the silent house within. Blood rushed all around his body again, and he felt the back of his throat dry up as he waited on tenterhooks for the door to open. No going back now. He'd have to come face-to-face with Usagi-san again. What would that face look like when it saw Misaki? Would he be pleased, angry, upset, impassive, confused?

Misaki's own face had a sort of deer-caught-in-headlamps expression on it, but it shifted to one of vague concern when no sound came from behind the door. It was not unlike Usagi-san to ignore visitors, but still… After two more unanswered rings of the bell, Misaki took yet another deep breath and pressed the button on the intercom.

"Usagi-san, are you home? It's me, Misaki…"

Whatever he thought of Misaki at present, he doubted the author would ignore him. However, even as Misaki strained his ears, there was not a sound to be heard from behind the door.

Again, the urge to chicken out was strong. Curiosity eventually won over fear, though, and Misaki- sighing in defeat- reached into his back pocket. His old key jingled as he withdrew it.

 _I hoped I wouldn't have to use this… Oh, well._ He stuck it into the lock and swallowed, wondering how in the hell he was going to explain his presence in the house to Usagi-san- But that was all forgotten the moment the door clicked and swung open.

The condo opened up before wide, misty eyes. To be there, back in his old home again, felt surreal. As Misaki stared through the narrow doorframe, a strange kind of trance overcame him, and his body slackened. He could see almost every room from here. He knew this place so well, and yet he felt like he was seeing it for the first time…

All of a sudden, dozens and dozens of Misaki's memories were ripped open, so fresh and vivid that he could practically see them unfolding before his eyes. Thin phantoms in the form of him and his past lover flickered around the condo.

There they were in the kitchen, Misaki cooking whilst Usagi-san hovered behind him. Sometimes Misaki was laughing, flicking cream at the author's face or feeding him scraps of whatever he was making. Other times, he was angrily dicing up green peppers and yelling at him, only silenced when Usagi-san wrapped his arms around him from behind and rested his chin on Misaki's shoulder.

Then Misaki was across the room, carrying a basket full of laundry that went flying as Usagi-san snuck up and pounced. Misaki's furious thrashing had little effect on him as he swung him over his shoulder, chuckling as he carried him up the stairs amidst fluttering, white sheets. By the time they reached the bedroom door, Misaki had stopped struggling.

Further back now, and they were in the lounge. Misaki was sitting at the end of the large, pink couch, Usagi-san kneeling in front of him. Tears dripped down Misaki's face and the author brushed them away with a tenderness Misaki could still feel. His lips were moving, and though there was no sound to go with this image, Misaki knew what he was saying. He knew every detail of this night; he'd revisited it in his mind so many times. He saw himself gasp, give in and close his eyes as Usagi-san held his face and moved closer, could practically feel those lips against his own as they fell back into the cushions. Such a new and thrilling sensation to him back then… Skin was revealed and clothes draped themselves carelessly over the couch. Misaki started panicking, telling Usagi-san to stop, slow down, he'd never done this before, he couldn't, but Usagi-san simply lifted his lover's hand and held it against his heartbeat and told him to relax, that everything was going to be okay...

Misaki's throat was tight. Furiously, he blinked his eyes, trying to dispel the swarming memories. He wanted this to stop. He didn't want to see this, didn't want to be reminded of their past selves, but they were everywhere; they were at the table, eating and chatting and laughing; they were upstairs, frantically kissing and tugging at each other's clothes as they stumbled to the nearest bedroom; they were on the couch again, cuddled up in the glow of the TV; they were in the entryway, right in front of Misaki, arguing. Usagi-san's ghostly face was contorted with pain as he reached desperately for the retreating figure of his former love.

No longer able to stand it, Misaki dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and stood there. A long breath hissed through his clenched teeth. He kept his eyes scrunched up until swirling patterns appeared behind the lids, not daring to open them again until he was sure the phantom memories were gone.

 _Honestly,_ he said to himself, waiting for his heart to slow, _I can be so overly sentimental sometimes…_ After taking a second or two to compose himself, he closed the door behind him, pried off his shoes, and stepped- albeit a little shakily- out of the entryway.

Now that the initial overwhelming shock of being back here had worn off, Misaki felt it replaced with a surprising sense of normality. Everything was just the same as it used to be- Well, almost. When Misaki actually studied the place more closely, he found it a little scruffier than usual. Less dirty and cluttered than he'd thought it would be, but still quite a step down from when Misaki had lived there. Frowning, he walked over to the couch and picked up a book from one of the enormous stacks there. It was coated in dust.

"Yasunari Kawabata…" he murmured, reading the name from the tatty paperback cover. It was one of those old, depressing stories Usagi-san used to read when he was sad.

Remembering why he was even there in the first place, Misaki gulped and called out, "Hello? Usagi-san, are you there?"

No answer. The whole house was so silent, but for some reason, Misaki felt sure the novelist was home. Maybe he was just sleeping?

As he replaced the book, Misaki's eyes wandered over to the kitchen. He thought for a moment before heading over (sadly eyeing the lovely, neglected cooking utensils on the way) and stepped on the pedal for the trash can. Its lid sprang open, revealing a jumble of empty beer bottles and countless cardboard cigarette cartons. Not a good sign.

There was a clatter as he released the lid, but still no sounds of stirring from the elusive novelist. Chewing his lip, Misaki made for the stairs. If Usagi-san was asleep, his best bets were the bedroom and the office.

"Usagi-san, are you awake?" he called as he made his way up. Each stair was gritty; clearly, no-one had vacuumed this place in a while. "I'm sorry to barge in like this, but Aikawa-san's been worried about you…"

He pushed the bedroom door open with a squeak. It was as childish as ever, with all the plushies and playthings lying in the exact same positions as they always were. No sign of the novelist, though.

Suzuki-san lay on his side on the bed, glassy eyes looking vaguely surprised to see his old bunkmate after so long. His ribbon looked rather worn and wilty, and Misaki was tempted to change it for old times' sake, but the familiar scent of Usagi-san was so strong here that it was dredging up yet more memories, along with an unpleasant throbbing in Misaki's chest. He shut the door.

"Hello?"

The only response was the squeak of the floorboards as he approached the office, right at the end of the hall. He had to be in there; the idiot had probably fallen asleep at his desk again. The door was closed and there was no light shining beneath it, but even so, an inexplicable feeling of dread crept along Misaki's spine as he came closer and closer to that particular room. Once outside the door, he paused for a moment. Did he knock, or just go in?

Deciding on the former, he raised his fists and delivered three quick taps. "Um, hello? Are you in there, Usagi-san?"

Still nothing. Hesitating for only a moment, Misaki reached out and grasped the doorknob. The cold metal sent goosebumps running up his arm. Slowly, he turned it, and pushed open the door.

Immediately, a stale blast of dust and cigarette smoke struck Misaki full in the face. He screwed up his eyes and wrinkled his nose, coughing. What in the world…?

"Usagi-san?" he said. Once his eyes had stopped watering, he gave them a quick rub and squinted through the gloom into the office. There at the desk- just as he'd predicted- was a dark, lifeless shape.

Seeing him made Misaki's heart miss a beat like always, but in an instant, irritation overpowered his nerves. First, the stupid rabbit gets mixed up in an arranged marriage he obviously didn't want, and then instead of dealing with it like a man, he just holes himself up in his office? And now Misaki had to deal with it? This was ridiculous!

"Usagi-san, what the hell are you doing?" he said. All his awkwardness momentarily left him as he strode into the office, glaring down at the graceless heap that was slumped over the open laptop. "Come on, wake up."

Usagi-san didn't stir, and so he reached for the man's shoulder, tutting. "You can't sleep here, you'll catch- Whuh?!"

A startled yelp escaped the editor as, the moment his hand made contact with him, Usagi-san's form toppled and went crashing to the floor. He landed at Misaki's feet, motionless.

Misaki himself was rooted to the spot. For a second or two, he simply gaped in shock at the body below him, before shakily inquiring, "Usagi-san…?"

Not even a twitch. "U-Usagi-san?"

He wasn't moving, why wasn't he moving? A wave of cold sweat rolled rapidly over Misaki's whole body. He dropped, heart already pounding, to his knees beside the author, grabbing him roughly by the shoulders.

"Usagi-san, this isn't funny," he said, shaking him. He was awake really, he had to be; this was just a stupid prank to wind Misaki up. "Open your eyes right now!"

"Usagi-san!"

" _Usagi-san!"_

He flopped around like a rag doll as Misaki jostled him. It was hard to see, but Misaki couldn't catch one wink of lavender in the dim light. His own eyes were popping. His already muddled mind was on overdrive.

 _what the hell is wrong with him has he been here all day the laptop's dead so it must have been a while oh my god what if he's dead what the hell do I do crap crap crap crap crap_

"Oh, no, no, no…" He was shaking now, hands hovering helplessly over the body before him. He ordered himself to stay calm, but Misaki's heart was already in his mouth and he was breathing shallowly, his sides heaving faster and faster. Slim fingers twisted desperately in the soft fabric of Usagi-san's sweater. "Usagi, _please_ open your eyes…"

All of a sudden, there was a sharp ringing close by. Misaki leapt in fright, but then realised it was the author's cell phone; it had fallen off the desk and was lying face-down on the floorboards. In a flash, Misaki snatched up the device and answered without checking the caller ID, too panicked to give his actions any thought.

"Hello?!"

"Finally! Akihiko, where the hell are you? Everyone's waiting for you!"

The familiar voice sparked relief in Misaki- but it was miniscule compared to his alarm.

"Isaka-san?" he gasped.

"Eh? Who is this?"

"It's Misaki- Misaki Takahashi."

"Oh, Chibi-tan! I haven't heard from you in ages. How are you?" The director's voice was as light and airy as ever, but quickly took on a note of confusion. "Wait, why do you have Akihiko's phone?"

"Isaka-san, listen!" he gabbled, not caring that he was being so rude to his employer. "There's something wrong with Usagi-san."

There was a pause. Instantly, Isaka-san's tone became serious. "What's the matter? Is he hurt?"

"I-I don't know." Misaki couldn't help it; tears burned his eyes. He tried not to squeak as his throat constricted painfully when he spoke. "I found him at his desk. He won't move or talk or anything and he needs help! What do I do, do I call an ambulance?!"

"Takahashi, calm down," Isaka-san ordered patiently. "Take a deep breath."

Misaki did as he was told, though the tightness in his chest made it difficult. After giving him a moment, Isaka-san asked, "Now, I need you to take a look at Akihiko for me. Is he breathing?"

"Um…" Leaning down, Misaki turned his head to the side and hovered just above Usagi-san's lips. He was thankful to feel a faint but definite breath tickle his cheek. "Yes."

"Okay, good. How's his pulse?"

Misaki felt for it, pressing two fingers to Usagi-san's neck. "It's pretty slow, but it's there."

"Hmm… Check his temperature," Isaka-san instructed. "Does he feel cold?"

"Not really…" Misaki said, one hand against the author's warm brow. "Actually, he feels like he has a fever."

On the other end of the line, Misaki swore he heard the usually uncaring Isaka let out a sigh of relief.

"In that case, he probably doesn't need an ambulance," he said. "I bet he just overworked himself and needs to rest. Get him to bed, make sure he has some food and water when he wakes up, and he should be fine."

Misaki eyed the unmoving body below him doubtfully. "Are you sure, Isaka-san?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." Sensing Misaki's concern, he added, "This happens to Akihiko all the time, Chibi-tan. Trust me, it's nothing to sweat about."

The editor bit his lower lip. Usagi-san had never done this in the four years Misaki had lived with him… But, Isaka-san had known him for longer, he supposed.

"Alright, then," he said quietly. Now that his senses had returned to him, he was feeling a little embarrassed for freaking out. "Thank you, Isaka-san. Uh, I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"Don't worry about it. I'm just glad someone found that moron before he started decaying at his desk." Evidently, all that mattered to Isaka-san was that his biggest money-maker wasn't dead. When he spoke again, Misaki could practically _hear_ the teasing smirk on his face.

"By the way, Chibi-tan, I'm curious. What are you doing at Akihiko's place, anyway?" Misaki froze, and Isaka-san continued in a purr. "I know you two split up, like, half a year ago. Were you paying him a visit in the hopes of reconciling, perhaps?"

"N-no!" Misaki stuttered, reddening. "I just came because Aikawa-san… It's not even important!"

"Isn't it?" The director chuckled. "You sounded pretty worried about him just now."

Heat rushed to Misaki's cheeks, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from telling his employer to shut up. Instead, he simply snapped, "I have to go!" and hung up.

There was still a slight tremor in his hand as he set down the cell phone. The company director wouldn't take kindly to being yelled at by an underdog like that, but Misaki would worry about that later; right now, his main focus was getting the dumbass rabbit off the floor and into bed before he caught a cold.

The editor shuddered as he looked down at him. Every nerve in his body was still frazzled; it was as if part of him still believed Usagi-san was… was…

"Shit," he sighed, pushing a pair of unsteady hands through his hair. "That was so scary..."

* * *

It nearly broke Misaki's back in half, but after hoisting the unresponsive Usagi-san over his shoulders, he was able to lug him down the hallway and into his bedroom. Panting, he staggered through the door, the author's legs dragging behind them. He tripped on several scattered toys before finally dumping him unceremoniously onto the mattress, grunting with effort as he did so.

Bending over, Misaki rested his hands on his upper thighs to catch his breath. His lungs burned- from strain or anxiety or both, he wasn't sure.

"Geez, Usagi-san…"

He straightened and opened his eyes, surveying the unconscious body below him. Usagi-san was on his back in the middle of his king-sized bed, one arm lying across his stomach, his head on its side and facing Misaki. The boy himself lingered by the bedside. Though his panic had now subsided, seeing the sleeping novelist only seemed to make his heart beat faster somehow.

Cautiously, he took a step forwards. The curtains in this room were open, allowing Misaki to see Usagi-san's face in more clarity: it was pale and framed by a wild ashy mane, lips slightly parted as if he were about to speak. The only sounds, however, that emitted from them were those of slow, even breaths. His chest gently rose and fell- not much, but enough to give Misaki some reassurance.

He frowned down at the author. Ex-boyfriend or not, seeing him so vulnerable like this… It filled Misaki with sadness.

"Is it really that terrible for you right now?" he asked in a murmur, carefully shifting the man so he could cover him up. "The Usagi-san I know wouldn't give up this easily."

Agreeing to his father's schemes, writing himself into oblivion… Misaki had never seen him sink so low. He stopped for a moment, the comforter stalling in his hands.

Because of Takahiro? Or… because of Misaki?

His forehead creased. "But then, what's with that other woman-?"

"… saki…"

He started at the low whisper, peering down at Usagi-san. While still very much out of it, the author's face had changed ever so slightly: the tiniest of furrows had appeared between his brows, and Misaki could have sworn he saw those lips move very faintly.

"Usagi-san?"

This time, there was no mistaking it. Usagi-san's eyebrows twitched, bunching together, and he growled hoarsely in his sleep.

"Misaki…"

Misaki leaned towards him. His heart thumped hopefully.

"Yeah, it's me, Usagi-san," he said. "Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?"

Wispy lashes fluttered against Usagi-san's gaunt cheekbones, but his lilac irises stayed hidden. "Mi… sa…" he rasped, and fell still again.

Disappointed, Misaki let out a quiet exhale. Usagi-san needed to rest now; if he wanted to talk to him, he'd simply have to wait.

Rustling sheets broke the silence as Misaki pulled the comforter over the exhausted novelist. (He thought about undressing him first, but quickly decided that anything beneath his ex's clothes was _way_ off limits- besides, he didn't want Usagi-san to be too cold.)

It felt silly, but Misaki tucked Suzuki-san under the covers, too, nestling him snugly beside his master. Said man was wearing the purple sweater, he couldn't help but note. He always liked that sweater. It brought out Usagi-san's eyes.

 _Wait, what the hell am I thinking?_

Misaki mentally slapped himself. Hastily, he settled a couple of pillows behind a silver head and then stepped back, sighing. Usagi-san's mumbles had ceased, but he still looked uncomfortable as he lay there, a fevered flush dusting his otherwise pasty cheeks. What was he dreaming about? A strange urge to reach out and touch his face came over Misaki- like he thought he could soften his troubled expression- and it made him recoil in horror, curling his fingers back into his palm. He backed towards the door.

"I better let him sleep…" he muttered to himself, casting one last glance at the sleeping figure before shutting the door softly behind him. In all honesty, he wasn't sure he could handle staying in that room any longer. The overpowering aromas of coffee, cologne, cigarettes, body soap, together with the endearingly innocent array of toys and the bed that Misaki had shared with Usagi-san for so long, where they'd made countless sweet, passionate memories together…

"Ugh… I knew it was a bad idea to come here."

He crossed the landing, folding his arms on top of the railings and leaning wearily against them. From there, he looked out over the wide expanse of the ground floor. The mess that had accumulated in his absence was now spread out like no man's land below him. Every unwashed dish and wonky cushion stuck out horribly to Misaki. The huge, slightly dinged windows poured sunlight, highlighting all the tiny dancing dust motes that filled the space from floor to ceiling.

It wasn't Misaki's house anymore. He knew that, and yet- just like the man who was also no longer his- he didn't like seeing it in this state. Unhelpfully, every single thing his eyes met, whether it was a chip in the wallpaper or a picture on the wall, unlocked another wretched recollection that amplified Misaki's emotional turmoil. Before he could push it away, a word flashed in his mind.

 _Home_.

He shook his head madly, pushing away from the railing. This was no good. To hell with Usagi-san's fiancée; Misaki couldn't stick around any longer to find out about that. He had to get out of there.

However, he only made it to the head of the stairs before pausing. Could he really just leave him like this? He glanced guiltily over his shoulder at Usagi-san's bedroom door, and was reminded of Takahiro's accident a few weeks ago. His ex had been so kind to him that day. It couldn't have been easy for him, either, but he didn't once leave Misaki's side.

Mind made up, the visitor folded his arms in resignation.

 _He was there when I needed someone_. Maybe now Usagi-san needed someone, too. Aikawa-san certainly seemed to think so.

That reminded Misaki- he should text her or something, let her know what the situation was. The editor was probably worried sick about her author by now, after all. Misaki didn't have his own phone on him, so he returned to the musty office at the end of the hall to fetch Usagi-san's.

He flicked the light switch as he entered, an angry lecture for Usagi-san about maintaining proper working conditions already forming in his head. Once he could see, he walked in and was about to stoop and retrieve the phone- when he noticed something on the desk that he hadn't before.

Slowly, Misaki picked up the photograph. It was a picture of a woman. A woman Misaki had never seen before, and yet he knew who she was before he'd even help her up in front of his eyes. She was beautiful and elegant and dressed all in red, and as Misaki stared at her, so was his vision coloured red too, the same blazing hue spreading throughout his body like a hot, raging fire.

* * *

 **Part of me felt like this chapter was a bit... over the top, maybe? But the other part of me thought that Misaki is a very emotional person and was bound to get nostalgic when he visited his old home. In any case, please tell me what you think of his reaction. (I guess it's a bit rich for me to be concerned about overdoing it when this fic is a bloody soap opera anyway. XD)**

 **Now, I'm sure you're all impatient for an actual conversation between our protags. I promise it'll come in the next chapter, and I'll do my best to have it written faster than this one was.**

 **In the meantime, thank you for reading and please review. :)**


	32. Chapter 32

**Hello from the Land of Crumpets and Rain, where it's FINALLY the summer holidays! And what better way to spend them than sitting in the dark writing fanfiction? :D**

 **By the way, I'd like to say an especially big thank you to everyone who reviewed my last chapter. There's no nicer feeling than posting something I'm not confident about and then waking up to a bunch of nice comments from you guys. Internet hugs to you all!**

 **Before you read, IMPORTANT QUESTION: Are any of you guys- or do any of you know of- a decent fanartist who would be willing to draw me a nice cover for this fanfiction? If so, please PM me. :)**

 **Right, on with chapter thirty-two (It's a long one!).**

* * *

Everything was white.

Akihiko couldn't see a thing besides bright, blinding white light. Where was he? He couldn't feel anything, either; he seemed detached from himself, floating around in a vast sea of nothingness.

" _Usagi-san…"_

Had the author possessed a pair of lungs in this strange, intangible state, he would have gasped. The call was little more than an echo, but he was sure he knew that voice…

It grew louder, speaking in words Akihiko couldn't catch but a tone that was unquestionably familiar to him. Again, he heard it:

"Usagi-san?"

Closer now. His name- His special name that only one person called him by. Though he had no lips, no tongue and no breath in this place, somehow Akihiko found his voice, crying out into the emptiness.

"Misaki?"

 _Where are you?_ He wished he had eyes to squint through this whiteness, to search for him…

"Usagi-san."

This time, something emerged from the light along with the voice. A figure; a man; a small, slim body and a pair of green eyes, more beautiful to Akihiko than anything else on earth.

"Misaki…"

Misaki. His beloved one. The disembodied Akihiko couldn't feel his heart pounding or his nerves tingle, but he felt _something_ ; some indescribable sense of immense adoration. Misaki was here, and as he stepped closer Akihiko- even without his physical being- swore he could feel him. Warmth and gentle touches and comforting, slightly sweet scent all enveloped Akihiko in a sort of intoxicating aura as Misaki came closer still, leaning towards him. His image was unclear, but those eyes stood out like twin emeralds in the white haze.

"It's me, Usagi-san," he said.

His voice was angelic. More than anything, Akihiko longed to reach out and hold him, but he had no arms or hands or body. He didn't seem to have anything in this mysterious place; nothing but pure love for the person before him.

"Misaki…" he called out again, but to his despair, the already blurry figure in front of him began to ebb away, receding into the white light. He was still talking, but his voice faded to the point that Akihiko could barely hear it. Something like panic overcame him.

 _No… Don't leave me again…_

Desperately, he tried to cry the boy's name once more, only to find that he could no longer make his voice work. Akihiko's thoughts were disconnecting; he struggled to keep them together, but the further from Misaki he slipped, the darker everything became and his already weak grasp on his consciousness began to loosen. The echoes of Misaki's voice turned to silence, and his warmth disappeared and left Akihiko cold and lost. Finally, when the two green lights of Misaki's eyes went out, the whiteness became black, and the author fell back into oblivion.

* * *

When Akihiko returned to the world once more- how much later it was, he had no idea- he had a body again, and every part of it felt like shit. Before he even opened his eyes, he could feel how gritty and sore they were. His limbs were leaden, and there was a horrible pressure inside his head that made it feel as though it would burst.

Very slowly, he shifted. The muscles in his arms and shoulders ached as he tried to lift himself; not as much as they had yesterday, though. Wait, was it still yesterday? Now that he thought about it, the last thing Akihiko remembered was getting home from that mind-numbing evening with Yamato-san and sitting down to finish his book. He didn't recall going to bed at all. He was pretty sure he was in his room, though; he could feel pillows behind his head and a blanket over him, and Suzuki-san's fur tickled the side of his face.

Wherever he was, Akihiko was uncomfortably warm, so he sat up and pushed the comforter away. After finally managing to pry open his eyes, he saw that he was indeed in his bedroom. The curtains were closed, but there was sunlight filtering through them so he must have been there all night.

 _How did I get here?_ He stretched, grimacing at the crackle of his spine. Did he finish the book like he planned? If so, he had no recollection of writing the ending whatsoever. Looking down, Akihiko realised he was still in his sweater and slacks. He must have been so exhausted that he didn't even have time to undress before falling asleep.

After peeling off the violet sweater (he felt feverish, which was unusual for him), Akihiko rubbed his eyes and looked around. The inside of his mouth was disgustingly sticky, so he was relieved beyond measure to catch sight of the tall glass of water on his nightstand. He grabbed it and gulped it down greedily, the cool liquid like magic to his sore throat. It was then that he noticed there was also a bowl next to his bed. Lifting it, he peered inside. Rice porridge- chicken flavour, from the smell of it. His comfort food.

"What the…?" His voice was gravelly. "Did Aikawa-san do this?"

He couldn't think how else it could have happened, but he could have sworn Aikawa-san said she was going to Osaka with another writer the other day… Maybe it was cut short or something. Shrugging, Akihiko picked up the nearby spoon and started eating. Only once he did so did he realise just how hungry he was; his stomach growled as soon as he swallowed the first mouthful, cramping painfully. Akihiko scolded himself. His editor was probably furious at him for getting into this state- and for trying to hide it from her.

As he ate, he mulled over the dream he'd been having before. It wasn't the first time Misaki had visited him in his sleep- far from it- but something about this time had felt different. It had seemed so _real_ , he thought as he chewed. He hoped he hadn't said something about Misaki (he'd been told he talked in his sleep) whilst Aikawa-san was still there. She knew he was having trouble moving on from his ex, but she didn't know the true extent of Akihiko's pining and he wished to keep it that way.

The porridge was lukewarm by the time Akihiko found it, but still delicious. Within minutes, he'd cleaned the bowl. He'd have to thank his editor- her cooking had improved a lot.

Setting the dish aside, Akihiko- feeling much more awake now he'd gotten some sustenance- inhaled deeply, causing him to notice an array of aromas creeping through his door from downstairs. Frowning, Akihiko tilted his head and listened; if he strained his ears, he could just about hear the clank of cookware in the kitchen.

 _Is Aikawa-san still here?_ As quickly as he could, Akihiko climbed out of bed. If she was there- and who else could it be?- he had to go and thank her right away. His editor had never cooked for him before, but he was touched by the gesture, especially considering the way he'd been behaving lately. And whatever she was making smelled mouth-watering… And oddly familiar. Like something he used to eat all the time, but hadn't had in ages...

Come to think of it, since when could Aikawa-san even cook?

Akihiko stood still, halfway to the door. After a few moments of confusion, his thoughts drifted back to the dream he'd had that day. His brow cleared.

"Surely not…"

Heart thumping, Akihiko opened his bedroom door and made his way to the stairs. Steam and more delicious smells were rising up from the first floor. When he was only just halfway down, the sight that met Akihiko very nearly bowled him off his feet.

His kitchen was busier than it had been for months. Pots and pans were simmering away on the stove, and the countertops were covered with tins, vegetables and cooking utensils. The dishwasher was already full to the brim. And there, standing in the middle of it all, was none other than Misaki himself.

Akihiko gaped at him, barely able to comprehend what he was seeing. His ex-boyfriend was just standing there, ladle in hand as he stirred the stew in front of him, casual as could be. His sleeves were pushed up beneath his old green apron; he looked _exactly_ as he always used to. What in the world was going on?

 _Is this another dream?_ Frozen on the stairs, Akihiko felt his mouth dry up. He was afraid to speak, to do anything that might cause Misaki to disappear and reveal that this wasn't real, after all. After standing dumbly for at least a minute, he finally forced himself to choke something out.

"Misaki?"

The boy had been staring into his stew, stirring pensively, but at the sound of Akihiko's voice he jumped and looked up.

"Usagi-san," he said, looking almost guilty, like he'd been caught in some shameful act. "You shouldn't be out of bed."

He descended the last few stairs stiffly, utterly baffled. "What are you doing here?"

Misaki gave the stew a quick stir before dropping the ladle. It was such a simple act, but one that transported Akihiko back to the days when Misaki was still his and cooking for him every day. Said boy was now facing him with a frown.

"Aikawa-san was worried 'cause you weren't picking up your phone, so she asked me to come and check on you.

"And it's a damn good thing I did," he said, his tone suddenly shifting to one of irritation. His hands moved to those slender hips as he scowled at the dumbfounded novelist. "I mean, geez, Usagi-san! How careless do you have to be to pass out in your office like that?"

 _Oh._ Awkwardly, Akihiko rubbed the back of his sleep-ruffled head. "Is that what happened?"

Bubbling sounds from the stew pot became audible, and Misaki hurried to grab the ladle again.

"Yes, and you almost gave me a heart attack. Take better care of yourself, idiot," he grumbled.

The novelist wasn't even upset by that remark. Misaki was absolutely right; he _was_ an idiot. Lowering his gaze, he leaned back and braced his hands against the countertop, seriously annoyed with himself for letting himself slip again and mortified that it was Misaki, of all people, who'd had to deal with the aftermath.

"I suppose I got carried away again…" he said by way of apology. Misaki didn't reply, and Akihiko looked back up at him curiously. He still didn't fully understand what was going on here.

"Not that I don't appreciate you rescuing me, but why are you still here?"

Whether it was the heat of the kitchen or not, Akihiko wasn't sure, but a faint pink colouring rose to Misaki's cheeks.

"W-well, it didn't seem like a good idea to leave you alone…"

When he heard that, something yanked on Akihiko's heartstrings. He could not believe the benevolence of his beloved. To think, after everything Akihiko had put him through, Misaki would be selfless enough to come to his aid at a time like this- _and_ go out of his way to take care of him afterwards.

That was Misaki, he supposed. Forever thinking of others.

At that moment, Akihiko was compelled to tell Misaki just how wonderful and kind and lovely he was, but he already knew it was out of the question to say such things to his ex; the situation was uncomfortable enough as it was.

"And, you're cooking because…?" he asked instead, gesturing to the buffet where his kitchen used to be.

"Because you need to eat some real food, Usagi-san!" Misaki said, slicing through a white radish with one swing of his knife. He shook his head. "I saw all those takeout containers in the trash. Man, it's no wonder you had no energy left if you've been living off that crap…"

He continued to angrily slice, his knife going _chop-chop-chop_ against the cutting board. In an attempt to lighten the mood, Akihiko joked, "Well, it was takeout or 'Usami-sensei's fluffy omelette special deluxe.'"

To his surprise, Misaki's frown disappeared and he actually laughed a little at that- a very small, grudging huff of a laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. Lifting the board, he swept the radish chunks into the stew and mixed.

"Anyway. I put a ton of meat and veg in everything to help you get better, so make sure you eat it all. Don't worry, it's all pepper-free," he added, glancing at Akihiko as he ground salt into the pot.

The novelist watched him, amazed. Part of him was bewildered that Misaki, given their relationship at the moment, was able to just waltz into his house and take control as if he owned the place. Another, larger part of him, however, was truly touched.

"Misaki…" he murmured, "You didn't have to go to all this trouble."

Petite shoulders shrugged under Misaki's apron.

"I know." He went back to stirring the stew, avoiding Akihiko's eyes. "But I figured I owed you one after the hospital."

"Well…" said Akihiko, and bowed ever so slightly. "Thank you. And I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you."

When he lifted his head, Misaki was looking at him again.

"Don't apologise to me, apologise to Aikawa-san," he said. He gave the stew a quick taste before continuing. "She's going to have a fit when she hears you nearly died at your desk again."

Akihiko sighed. He took one hand off the countertop and ran it through his hair.

"It was foolish of me, I know. I've… I've had a lot on my mind."

Misaki's head was lowered, bent over his cooking, but when Akihiko said that a pair of green eyes timidly raised themselves to his. "Like what?"

The author hesitated, cursing himself for the slip. Misaki was the very last person he wanted to find out about Sakae.

"Oh, you know." He looked away, feigning nonchalance. "Family matters."

 _Family matters, indeed_ … There was silence for a moment, broken only by the gentle simmering sounds of Misaki's stew. Then, in a very, very quiet voice:

"Like your wedding?"

Akihiko's head snapped up. He couldn't have… Misaki was still looking at the contents of the cooking pot, but the ladle in his hand had ceased its circling. The look on his face erased any doubts in Akihiko's mind; he knew. The author's jaw went slack.

"How did you...?"

"Aikawa-san," said Misaki simply. Tipping his head back, Akihiko closed his eyes in frustration.

"That chatterbox…" He couldn't believe this. Of all the people his gossiping editor could have told, why the hell did she have to pick his ex-boyfriend?

"So, it's true then?" Misaki asked. He was giving Akihiko an odd look, and though his expression wasn't exactly angry, it still managed to make him feel guilty. "You're getting married?"

"I don't know yet," he finally admitted. A furrow appeared between Misaki's brows, and he looked back down at his cooking. Akihiko shifted. "Are you mad at me?"

It was a moment or two before Misaki answered. "No, I just don't understand. Your dad's tried to get you to marry before, right?" he asked, tilting his head sideways. "Why didn't you just say no like you did all those other times?"

"It's complicated," Akihiko told him, a little sheepishly. "I tried to refuse my father, but…"

How was he supposed to explain this without revealing Misaki's part in it?

"But what?" asked his ex. Letting go of the ladle, he turned once again to face Akihiko. He wore an expression of patient readiness to listen that used to be of the utmost comfort to the author. "You can tell me."

No, he couldn't tell him. Knowing Misaki, as soon as he heard the reason Akihiko was in this mess, he was bound to blame himself for it. Akihiko wouldn't allow that; he'd hurt his loved one far too much already without heaping guilt on him.

"Let's just say he's got me backed into a corner," he said, exhaling. "If I don't do what he wants, there's going to be very unpleasant consequences."

Misaki's brow was troubled.

"So, you're really going to marry a stranger?" he asked. He sounded unbelieving. "And a woman, no less?"

He hesitated. "I don't _want_ to."

"Then don't do it."

He shook his head. "It's not as simple as that, Misaki."

"Well, you can't just give in!" Misaki blurted, startling Akihiko. He looked embarrassed, but the fire in his eyes didn't dull as his hands tensed in agitation by his sides.

"Marrying for any reason other than love can only lead to disaster," he went on. Akihiko stared at him. "You of all people should know that, Usagi-san."

His intense look was met with one of confusion from Akihiko. "What do you mean, me of all people?"

The colour on his cheeks darkening, Misaki rubbed one of his skinny wrists.

"Well, weren't you always saying how unhappy you were as a child?" he said. Not sure where he was going with this, Akihiko raised an eyebrow.

"You were so lonely and miserable because your parents didn't love each other…

"You resented them for that, but now you're planning on doing the exact same thing as them?" Misaki finished. The look he gave Akihiko as he spoke was almost imploring, begging for some kind of enlightenment.

Amethyst eyes widened a little as Misaki pointed this out; Akihiko was amazed that he himself hadn't made that particular observation yet. When he first met Misaki, he'd thought he was just a plain thickhead, but it was times like this that Akihiko realised he really was smart in his own way.

Now, his horror at the thought of marrying Sakae Yamato only doubled as he realised he would indeed be taking the same path his father chose- a loveless marriage out of convenience and nothing more. If he went through with this, Akihiko would become the one thing he dreaded being more than anything else: just like his parents.

As if he didn't already feel disgusting about this... He tugged uncomfortably at his collar (God, the kitchen was hot). The only reason he was even considering the marriage was to protect Misaki- of course- but that didn't make him any less ashamed, and the withering look his ex was giving him wasn't helping.

"It's not for definite," he said eventually. It was a weak defence, but it was all he had.

Unsurprisingly, this did absolutely nothing to sway Misaki, who looked rather sour as he picked up the ladle once again. Steam swirled in huge, misty clouds all around him.

"I can't believe you're even thinking about it."

Akihiko's heart sank into his stomach at the disapproval evident in this remark. _Just great. He already thinks I'm a jerk, and this happens._ This was too painful for the author. A sudden desperation to redeem himself in his ex's eyes began mounting inside him, and he took a step forwards.

"Misaki, you don't understand."

"Then explain it to me."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I just… can't." He sighed, dropping his head and his hands. It was no good. He wanted to tell Misaki the truth (he was one of the few Akihiko was comfortable confiding in, after all) but there was simply no way he could.

Misaki regarded Akihiko for a long moment.

"… Fine."

Closing his eyes, he went back to his cooking, taking a few spice jars from the drawer below him. He started tapping them into his hand and adding them to the stew, throwing them into the pot with quick, sharp flicks of his wrist. Akihiko watched gravely.

"You said you weren't mad at me."

Misaki didn't look at him. "I'm not."

"Yes you are, I can tell." His body language was like a book to Akihiko. He moved to the end of the counter, just across from the stove where Misaki was. Dark hair hung over his eyes, and there was a clear flush to his face that Akihiko had a feeling wasn't just from the burner's heat. He leaned across the cluttered countertop, trying to look at him properly.

"Why are you upset?" he couldn't help but ask. The stew began to bubble loudly again, and Misaki twisted a knob on the stove. "This isn't even anything to do with you."

Actually, it kind of was, but Misaki didn't know that.

One green eye, slightly narrowed, looked sideways at Akihiko. The effect it had on him was positively acidic.

"Wouldn't it bother you if someone led you on for four years and then got engaged to someone else?"

 _Here we go._ So that was Misaki's main peeve about this. He should have figured that out from the start, to be fair. Pursing his lips, Akihiko drew in a deep, long breath and released it through his nose.

"Misaki," he said, as steadily as he could, "for the last time, I _wasn't_ leading you on."

He knew that arguing his case now was futile- they were way past any hope of reconciling- but he couldn't just stand there and say nothing. That Misaki truly believed Akihiko never loved him still stung.

The younger man huffed. "There you go with the lies again," he muttered.

"I'm not lying!" This wasn't fair… It wasn't _fair_ …

"Well, you say that, but you're still thinking of marrying some random woman," Misaki fired back. Irritably, he started clearing the kitchen, cramming tins and spice jars back in the drawer and shoving cookware into the dishwasher. "And it hasn't even been a _year_ since we broke up."

 _But you're the one that left_ me!

Wounded anger was rising up within Akihiko's torso. No matter how hard he tried to fight it down, he was unable to stop himself making his next remark.

"What does it matter to you?" His voice was laced with bitterness. "You've got that pretty boy mangaka now, haven't you?"

The only response this merited was an annoyed eye roll as Misaki slammed the dishwasher shut.

"Oh, way to dodge the matter at hand, Usagi-san," he said. "Don't bring Ijuuin-sensei into this."

Scowling, the author leaned back against the counter again. His arms were tightly crossed. "I'm just saying, if you can get involved with someone else after you left me, you can't get angry with me for doing the same thing."

"Excuse me?" Misaki stopped, one outstretched hand midway to the cupboard above him. "What exactly do you think is going on between sensei and I?"

"I don't think I need to spell it out."

Frowning, Misaki shook his head, moving slowly back across the kitchen and towards the stove. The steam was increasing.

"You've got it totally wrong, Usagi-san, do you hear me?" With one hand on the ladle, he leaned towards the stone-faced author and narrowed his eyes to slits, looking uncharacteristically menacing. "And even if I did decide to go out with him, I wouldn't _marry_ him straight off the bat!"

"Why not?" said Akihiko. His teeth were clamped firmly together. "You clearly trust him more than you ever trusted me."

He would never forget that night Misaki left; when he believed Ijuuin over the man who loved him.

Removing the ladle, Misaki banged the lid down onto the metal pot.

"Well, whose fault is that?!" His face was a dark shade of red now, and he jabbed the utensil in his hand towards Akihiko. "And if I _did_ marry him, at least I'd be marrying someone I know and care about- _and_ I'd have the decency to wait more than a few months after breaking up with someone else!"

Those words cut Akihiko deeper than any knife could. His already stiff muscles locked up, paralysed with fury- but he couldn't find anything to say. Misaki was right. For all their sharpness, his words were absolutely true.

"Look, Misaki…" Akihiko pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know it seems horrible that I'm even considering this, but just believe me when I say there's a good reason for it."

"If that's the case, why can't you tell me what it is?"

" _Because_ , it would only make things worse!"

They were standing just a couple of feet apart now, glowering at each other through the thick, steamy fog. The metal lid was bouncing and clanging against the stew pot as heat tried to escape. With something that could almost be described as a sneer on his face, Misaki planted his hands on his hips once again.

"Can't be any worse than marrying a stranger."

With another step forwards, Akihiko raised himself to his full height over the smaller man. He towered above Misaki, nostrils flaring.

"Is that the real reason you came over, then? To lay a guilt trip on me?"

Misaki's chest swelled. Akihiko saw a furious tremble course through him before he reached down and untied his apron, never breaking eye contact as he all but ripped the garment off.

"I came over because I worried about you, you ass."

He stomped to the coat hook and deposited the apron, yanking down his sleeves. Akihiko watched him in silent distress, fingers digging into his forearms as a bead of sweat formed at his temple. Like the stew on the stove, he was seething.

 _Everything I'm doing is for_ you _, Misaki. It's always for you. Why can't you ever see that?_

When Misaki headed out of the kitchen, Akihiko followed. He couldn't let things end like this, not again…

"Misaki-"

"You know what?" he cut across, spinning around in his tracks. "Forget I said anything.

"Just do whatever you want."

He reached the entryway. Akihiko stood behind him in the middle of the room, holding his balled-up hands out by his sides.

"I'm not doing this because I want to!" he yelled in desperation.

Misaki looked over his shoulder, one hand on the doorknob. "Then, why are you doing it?"

They stood for a moment, staring each other down. Akihiko's heart was racing. The dark green depths of Misaki's eyes were swimming with disgust and hatred, and it made Akihiko's blood boil. He couldn't stand it. Yes, he wasn't innocent in this, but he _knew_ he didn't deserve that hatred!

You _left_ me _, Misaki. After everything I did for you, you were the one that walked away._

"It's none of your business," he answered. His tone was frosty. "Now, why don't you run on back to your precious mangaka?"

Misaki's jaw clenched. His knuckles were white around the door handle.

"Okay, I will."

He wrenched the door open, shooting one last, filthy look at Akihiko before he turned away. "Congratulations, Usagi-san."

The slam shook the walls of the condo.

* * *

It took Akihiko at least half an hour to calm down. After storming around the first floor, breaking a glass and kicking a few walls, he finally collapsed onto the couch, panting. Only once his heart rate was back to normal and his mind had ceased its buzzing was he able to stop and think the whole affair over properly.

He regretted it. He knew he would even before Misaki had left. As he sat there in his book-filled lounge with his head in his hands, Akihiko felt his anger- rather than fade- being simply directed away from Misaki and towards himself. He rubbed his face, puffing on a cigarette.

What was _wrong_ with him? He was the one who'd gotten himself into this rotten state, and Misaki had reached out to him, even after Akihiko betrayed him so badly. He'd have probably had to go to the hospital again- or worse- if Misaki hadn't found him in time. He could have just left Akihiko to waste away, but he hadn't. He'd come to his rescue. He'd stayed and _cooked_ for him, for God's sake. How could Akihiko have been so ungrateful?

Smoke burned his lungs as he blew it back out in a sigh. He hadn't meant to be such an asshole. Of course he hadn't; he would never intentionally hurt Misaki. It was just that Akihiko loved him and missed him so insanely, infuriatingly much, and he was so damn envious of Ijuuin for having what he wanted, and he so was desperate to tell Misaki that the only reason he wouldn't refuse his father was to keep him safe (because he _loved_ him, dammit), but there was no way to do it without worsening things, and it maddened Akihiko.

Some last dregs of adrenaline resurfaced, and he drove his foot into the coffee table (he really should stop that now- it was starting to hurt). If _only_ he could tell Misaki… If only he would just believe Akihiko. He hated that his father's cruel setup had just made him look like even more of insensitive jerk to Misaki, when in reality all Akihiko wanted was for him to be happy. But there was no way Misaki could have known that; Akihiko shouldn't have gotten mad at him for it.

He should have known it wouldn't last anyway. It was Misaki, after all.

He crushed out his cigarette, glancing around the condo. Somehow, he'd let it turn into a dump again; he was surprised Misaki hadn't given him a telling off for that, too. The whole place smelled of stew and other delicious things, and Akihiko's stomach- unsatisfied with the small meal from earlier- grumbled in complaint.

Painfully, he rose from the couch and returned to the kitchen. There were pots and tubs everywhere. Misaki had made all his favourites: beef stew and hambagu steak and spicy curry, without a grain of sugar or green pepper in sight. A lump formed in Akihiko's throat as he ladled some into a bowl (how long had it been since he'd had a homemade meal?) and carried it to the table.

 _You're a complete and utter dick. It's no wonder Misaki left you._

And now he was getting pushed closer and closer to Sakae Yamato, and he simply couldn't see a way out.

After offering a sullen blessing, he lifted a spoonful of stew. The second it was in his mouth, however, he froze. The flavours… They were so rich and so nostalgic. One mouthful was enough to bring dozens and dozens of bittersweet memories to mind.

His spoon lowered to the table. He let the stew sit on his tongue, savouring it. He'd thought he'd never taste this taste again… In a time of such misery like this, it almost felt like a cruel taunt to Akihiko; a taste of a blissful, happy time to which he could never return. If only he hadn't fucked everything up.

Akihiko swallowed what was in his mouth and let his tears fall.

He didn't want to marry her. He didn't want a life like his parents', where wedding rings were only worn out of the house and the bed was cold and dull. He wanted a vibrant and colourful life, full of sweet words and deep, long kisses and passionate lovemaking. He wanted picnics and holding hands and exploring new places and stupid conversations at 4 AM and watching movies and building blanket forts and laughing. He wanted love. He wanted _Misaki_.

"I just want you back…" he sobbed. The sleeve covering his eyes was already soaked.

He just wanted him back. He _just_ wanted him back. Why couldn't he be here? Why did Akihiko have to kiss Takahiro back then? Why had fate given him a glimpse of true happiness for the first time in his life, only to snatch it away again? Why? Why? _Why?_

By the time Akihiko was no longer trembling, the stew in his bowl was stone cold.

* * *

 **Not what you guys were expecting? I'm sorry if I've disappointed anyone- Please understand that I'm not just dragging this thing out and piling on the angst for the sake of it. There IS a point to this, I swear XD Plus, I thought it was only realistic for them to have at least one argument after they broke up. And let's be honest; though it's OOC for Usagi-san to get mad at Misaki even temporarily, he deserved it this time.**

 **Speaking of that, who do you guys believe was in the right in this argument? To be honest I think both of them had a point, but I'm interested to hear what you guys think. Let me know in a review please! (But Usagi fans, please don't throw things at me!)**

 **I have another oneshot for my collection in mind, and also a rather weighty request, so I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up, but it shouldn't be longer than two weeks- it might even just be one like usual. In any case, thank you very much for reading and I'll see you guys next time! :3**


	33. Chapter 33

**Hi guys!**

 **Thanks to everyone who commented with their opinions last time- It was really interesting reading and responding to them. Most of you seem to be leaning towards Usagi's side... I hope I haven't made everyone hate poor little Misaki too much. :P**

 **This is another chapter I'm not too sure about, but usually when I feel like that, it doesn't turn out to be as bad as I thought, so I'm just gonna post it. I hope you guys enjoy it. :)**

 **(BTW, still looking for a cover artist if anyone can help me...)**

* * *

 _Well_ , thought Misaki, flopping onto his bed, that _didn't go to plan._

He sighed heavily, lying with his arms and legs spread out. Twice, he'd stormed out of Usagi-san's now. What _happened_? He went over there with the intention of having a mature, rational conversation, and it had turned into a screaming match.

 _His fault for saying that about me and Ijuuin-sensei, the jerk._ Misaki felt his jaw clench. The journey home had cooled him off a little, but he was still mad. How dareUsagi-san suggest that he was just like him- moving straight on to the next person with no regard for the other's feelings? Usagi-san was the one getting married!

 _It's not for definite_ , he reminded himself. But still, that Usagi-san would even consider…

He trailed off in his mind. _Is that really what's bothering me the most, though?_

The conversation replayed itself inside his head, and he remembered how worn down Usagi-san had looked. It was just as Aikawa-san had said- he looked like he was slowly giving up. No, not giving up; giving in. To his _father_. He was the real enemy here.

"I wonder what he said to him…" he murmured, eyeing the grey rabbit that lay on his pillow. Whatever the threat, it must have been an awful one to have Usagi-san looking so helpless.

As Misaki stared at the ceiling, an uncomfortable yet not unfamiliar sensation overcame him. The anger was still there, but even as Misaki tried to hold onto it, it was fading fast. He thought about what he said to Usagi-san.

 _Wouldn't it bother you if someone led you on for four years and then got engaged to someone else?_

 _I wouldn't marry him right off the bat!_

 _I'd have the decency to wait more than a few months!_

That… was mean of him. Reaching behind him, Misaki grabbed one of his pillows and squeezed it against his midsection. Usagi-san had been pretty shitty to him, too (especially after he came to his rescue), and he was still annoyed, but he hadn't deserved _all_ that. He must be having a really rough time because of his dad, and Misaki had just given him a load of crap on top of it all- again.

The editor was already feeling the first lashings of guilt, but they worsened when Misaki finally realised- or rather, finally admitted to himself- that half of what he'd said before at the condo, he hadn't even really meant.

He closed his eyes, silently cursing. Why didn't he just tell Usagi-san the truth? That he didn't want him to get married because he didn't want him to be miserable? That was Misaki's main concern from the start, but he had to go and let his embarrassment get the better of him like always. He'd lashed out at Usagi-san and used the breakup as an excuse for his interference. They were just getting back on friendly terms, and Misaki had turned everything sour again.

"Self-centred brat," he muttered to himself. "Everything always has to be about you, doesn't it?"

He glanced at the photograph beside his bed, at his happy family. Another thing his selfishness had destroyed. His stomach clenched.

If only he hadn't gotten so emotional; if only he hadn't lost control; then maybe he could have talked to Usagi-san about the whole marriage thing properly. Maybe he could have even prevented it…

 _Why do I even care if he gets married, anyway? Like he said, it's nothing to do with me._

 _ **You know why.**_

A jolt. "Shut up!"

His screwed his eyes shut even tighter. He was not even going to consider that possibility.

Exhausted from the ordeal and without any work to be doing, Misaki lay there on his bed for a couple of hours or so. He tried distracting himself- reading manga, watching YouTube videos on his phone- but he couldn't seem to focus on anything for very long. Just as he was about to get up and start making dinner, a loud burst of music beside his ear made Misaki jump. Opening his eyes, he saw that his cellphone- which he'd left on the nightstand- was ringing. It was playing the _The Kan_ theme song, so he knew who it was even before he looked at the screen.

He frowned at Ijuuin's contact photo. For some reason- he had no idea why- he didn't feel like talking to him just now.

"It could be about work, though…"

After a few seconds of staring, Misaki declined the call. He didn't put down his phone, though. His front teeth nibbled at his lower lip.

Should he…?

 _It's the right thing to do. Don't think about it, just do it._

Without breathing in or out, he opened his contacts, scrolled down to Usagi-san's name and hit 'call'. Only once it started ringing did his palms begin to sweat.

He was half-expecting to be ignored, but after the third ring, a mildly surprised voice answered, "Hello?"

He sounded even worse than he had before; kind of hoarse. Had he been crying? Misaki hoped not. He inhaled.

"Hi. Um…" _Just say it._ "I'm sorry."

Just getting those two words out made Misaki feel a lot lighter. The other end of the line was silent for a while; Usagi-san was probably completely nonplussed, given that Misaki was yelling at him only a few hours ago.

"… It's alright," he eventually replied.

Misaki gritted his teeth. Part of him had actually been hoping for Usagi-san to be angry and cold; he'd feel less guilty that way.

"No, really, I'm sorry," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I… I came over to try and help and I lost it. It was none of my business, and I shouldn't have gotten mad at you over it."

"I don't blame you."

He shifted on his back, fidgeting against the bedclothes. _Stupid Usagi, you're not supposed to forgive me._ "Look, I didn't mean to blow up at you, I just-"

"I understand, Misaki," Usagi-san cut across. He cleared his throat. "I owe you an apology, too. I said some things that were unfair."

That surprised Misaki. He didn't disagree, but somehow he hadn't expected Usagi-san to apologise after the way he behaved.

"It's okay," he said softly.

There was an awkward pause. Misaki was just thinking he should wrap things up when, through the speaker, he heard Usagi-san take a deep breath.

"About the engagement."

Misaki's heart skipped a beat. "Yeah?"

"It's not none of your business." Usagi-san sounded extremely uncomfortable, but he went on, "I know that after we… I know that to marry someone else now would be hugely disrespectful to you, and you have every right to be angry with me. So… I'm sorry for that, too."

Unsure of what to say, Misaki just waited. The fingers of his free hand dug into his pillow.

"I…" The older man sounded strained. Misaki imagined he was running his hand through his hair. "I know I shouldn't even be thinking about it. I wish I could tell you why, Misaki, it's just… My father…"

"I get it," Misaki said. Another remorseful twinge rippled through him. "You don't have to explain yourself to me, Usagi-san. I was wrong to try and make you."

The voice that answered him was little more than a whisper. "Thank you."

He sounded so… small. What kind of horrible vice did his father have him trapped in? Something throbbed in Misaki's chest, and he was overcome with a sudden desperation to lift Usagi-san's burdens in any way he could. He wanted to tell him he could talk to Misaki if he needed to. He wanted to be able to give him all the support and reassurance he seemed to so badly need, tell him that he didn't have to marry anyone he didn't want to, that he could have the strength to fight back against his father…

But, despite what Usagi-san had said, Misaki maintained his earlier statement; it was none of his business.

He heard Usagi-san cough a little into the receiver. "Well, I should go…"

"Oh, sure," said Misaki, feeling his face heat up a little at the thought that he was keeping the author from something important. Without thinking, he added, "Um, Usagi-san…"

Misaki hesitated. What did he say?

"Yes?"

"Uh…" He swallowed. "Just, take care of yourself, okay?"

As soon as he'd said that, his already warm face started burning. Usagi-san didn't reply for a moment or two, but when he did, Misaki thought he heard the smallest hint of a smile in his voice.

"You too, Misaki," he said. A single heartbeat passed. "Well, goodbye."

"Bye, Usagi-san."

Simultaneously, they hung up.

A huge burst of air that Misaki hadn't even realised was there escaped him. He put the phone down. That was good. He did the right thing, and it was okay now. He felt better.

Better. But not good.

He frowned at the ceiling. Shouldn't he be happy now that he'd apologised? Sure, his insides had stopped twisting guiltily, but why did Misaki still feel… sort of sad?

Again, that cruel voice inside his head.

 _ **You know why**_ **.**

Misaki flipped onto his front and pulled his pillow over his head. He stayed buried there for a long time, holding it over his ears, as if he were trying to block out the words for good.

* * *

" _USAMI-SENSEI!"_

The door banged open, and Akihiko jumped, looking up from the novel he'd been reading. His editor was standing in the entryway, keys dangling from her hand, red in the face and breathing heavily through her nose like a bull.

Despite himself, Akihiko swallowed. Had Misaki told her that he'd passed out? Did she know that Akihiko had been a jerk to him again? He hoped the redness and swelling around his eyes had disappeared.

"I thought you were in Osaka," he said, feigning ignorance.

Glowering at him, she opened her handbag and produced a thick sheaf of paper. "I was, but I came back straight away after reading this!"

He peered at the papers: the final few chapters of his manuscript. So _that_ was what she was getting her panties in a knot about.

"You already finished it?" he said, raising his brows. He'd written and e-mailed them to her less than three hours ago.

"Oh, I finished it, alright!" Her heels stabbed the floorboards as she stalked over, waving the manuscript in his face. "What the hell are you trying to pull, sensei? What was with that ending?!"

He took out a box of cigarettes. "Didn't you like it?"

"Like it?!" Aikawa-san leaned towards him, pointing to her smudged eye makeup. "I _cried_ , sensei! Do you know how often a first draft makes me cry?"

A breath of smoke from Akihiko caused her to draw back, coughing. The author knew he was being an ass, but he didn't care; he wasn't in the mood for her fangirl antics. Especially not after his and Misaki's argument a few hours ago- An argument that wouldn't have happened had it not been for her.

After waving the smoke away, she crossed her arms and towered over him. She looked _furious_. All this over a fictional story?

"Why, sensei?"

"What do you mean, wh-"

"You know exactly what I mean!" she snapped. "Why didn't they get back together? Why did you destroy my OTP, sensei?!"

He sighed smoke tendrils. "For the last time, Aikawa-san, I don't knowwhat an OTP is."

Aikawa-san stuck out her lower lip. It was painted magenta today.

"I can't believe you did… _that_ to poor Yuu!" she said. She slapped the manuscript down on the table, scowling at it like it was one of her ex-boyfriends, before turning on him again. "You _cannot_ end it like that, Usami-sensei! As your editor, I demand that you re-write it so that Hitomi and Yuu have their happy-ever-after!"

Akihiko just rolled his eyes. He inhaled deeply on his cigarette.

"I'm not re-writing it, Aikawa-san," he said. "And you're not acting like my editor, you're acting like a teenager."

She pouted a little more at that, but sobered up, sulkily taking a seat beside him.

"I don't understand you, sensei," she said, and sighed. "I absolutely loved the first half, but why'd you have to give it such a miserable ending?"

"It's not a miserable ending," he said, even though it was, in fact, the most miserable ending he'd ever given any book, ever. "It's a realistic ending."

If he'd any doubts about what he was going to do to Yuu Fujino, they were completely erased by his earlier conversation with Misaki. His protagonist deserved everything that had happened to him and worse.

His editor huffed. "Come on, sensei, can't you change it? Seriously, the readers are going to be totally unsatisfied with the way it is now."

 _It's not_ about _the readers._ "I don't want to change it," he said simply, taking another drag. "Besides, how could they possibly get back together? Yuu helped to murder Hitomi's brother- She'd never forgive him for that."

"But he became a better person!" she insisted. She turned herself on the couch so that she was facing him, eyes wide and hands clenched in her lap. "He turned away from crime. He avenged her brother! And Hitomi really loved him- Surely she could find it in her to forgive him?"

Akihiko stubbed out his cigarette, produced another and lit up. "That would hurt the morals of the story."

She arched an eyebrow. "Morals?"

"Yuu is a liar," said Akihiko. "He did terrible things and tried to cover them up. He _betrayed_ Hitomi. There's no way he can make up for that- He doesn't deserve her after what he's done."

The novelist hadn't noticed until he finished talking, but the cigarette carton was nearly getting crushed in his hand. Hastily, he set it down on the coffee table. Aikawa-san was regarding him with a puckered brow, unconvinced.

"So, the message is, what? You can never atone for your mistakes, period?" She was getting agitated, moving her hands around in exaggerated gestures as she spoke. "What's the point of that? Why can't it be about love, and forgiveness?"

Akihiko masked his annoyed sigh with a puff of smoke. She was so bothersome… Why couldn't she just accept the damn thing the way it was? It was his book.

"Forget the message," he ordered. "I'm not changing it, and that's final.

"Oh, and before I forget," he said, "I want it published under a penname."

"A penname?" His editor tilted her head. "Why?"

"It doesn't _matter_ why," he half-growled. She must have said that word at least twenty times since she came in… "Just make it happen, okay?"

She gave him a funny look then, and he looked away quickly, turning his head towards the windows. The sun was going down outside, and the first of the city lights were beginning to flicker on. Akihiko stared out over them. Misaki was out there somewhere. Was he thinking about before? Or was he having fun with Ijuuin?

"Sensei?"

He glanced lazily at her. "Hm?"

Aikawa-san was squinting at him, her head still angled to one side.

"Is there something… special about this particular novel?"

A long, manicured fingernail tapped the manuscript as she spoke. Keeping his face as neutral as he could, Akihiko inhaled a long, slow breath of smoke and blew it out.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, you finished it over a month before your deadline, for starters," she said, crossing one leg over the other. "For you, that's a miracle.

"But also, you just seem to care about it a lot," she went on. "More so than any of your other projects."

The cigarette began rolling between Akihiko's fingers. "Oh?"

She nodded. Her large, hooped earrings winked at him in the fading light. "I saw your face when your dad was here- When you thought you might not be able to publish it. You looked terrified, sensei," she told him. Akihiko merely shrugged in response, but his editor still wasn't done.

"But the main thing is, you're so adamant about writing it the way you want to."

His eyebrows pulled together at that. "Isn't that my job as the author?"

"Well, yeah," said Aikawa-san. She took the manuscript from the table again and started thumbing through it, skimming over the pages. "But everything you were saying about Yuu just now- That he didn't deserve Hitomi, and he needed to be punished, and all that… You don't normally talk about your characters that way."

She was twisting a strand of red hair around her finger as she read. Once again, Akihiko found himself impressed by her perceptiveness. She seemed to know all his little habits and mannerisms better than he did.

"You usually talk about them like they're…" She groped for a word. "Tools. Objects. But when you were writing this one- I don't know if you noticed, sensei, but you were getting really caught up in it."

"Was I?"

From the way she was acting, Aikawa-san didn't even know that he'd collapsed while writing yesterday (yet). With that in mind, if she could still see how immersed Akihiko had become in his story, it must have been pretty damn obvious.

She nodded again. "Yeah, you really were. Almost like it was _real_. Like you were telling a real story, with real people…"

As she spoke, her voice lowered into a murmur and petered out. Akihiko watched her. Deep furrows had appeared in her flawless brow as her eyes became fixed on one section of a particular page. They looked to be reading the same paragraph over and over. Then, her eyebrows lifted and her mouth opened, slowly, until she was gaping at the page in front of her.

"Oh my God…"

Crystal blue eyes widened to the size of saucers, darting up to meet Akihiko's.

"Usami-sensei, _you're_ Yuu!"

He didn't answer. Aikawa-san leapt to her feet, clutching the manuscript with both hands as she began poring over it again; it was as if she were reading it for the first time.

"It all makes sense now…" His editor looked like a detective who'd just cracked the most mysterious case of the century. "Yuu is _you_ , and Hiromi is Misaki!"

Akihiko tapped a line of ash into the overloaded tray. "I was wondering if you'd ever tag on."

She stopped then, facing Akihiko with an expression of incredulity and irritated disappointment.

"Sensei. Are you telling me this _entire_ book,"- she flung her arm out to the side, holding the once treasured manuscript like it was garbage- "is just a dressed-up whining spree about your ex-boyfriend?"

"Well, it loses some of its profundity when you phrase it like that…" he muttered around his smoke. His editor's hands dropped to her sides.

"You've gotta be kidding me."

"What?" said Akihiko. He jerked his head towards the papers in her hand. "You said writing about it might make me feel better, and it did."

"No, it _didn't_ ," she almost cried. With an exasperated exhale, she plonked herself back on the couch and looked him in the eyes. "It just made you dwell on it even more. Is that why you want to use a penname?" she suddenly asked. "Are you hoping Misaki will read it?"

 _Damn her telepathic tendencies…_ The novelist knew it was silly- Misaki hardly ever read books, and even if by some incredible coincidence he _did_ decide to read Akihiko's novel about the two of them, it wouldn't change anything. But…

If there was even the smallest chance that he might read it, Akihiko wanted to take it. Because if Misaki read those words Akihiko had spent the past months meticulously piecing together just for him, it would feel like he'd said them to Misaki with his own voice. Like he'd finally told him all the things he wanted to, but couldn't.

Apparently, Aikawa-san hadn't picked up on that.

"I can't believe this… _That's_ why you've been acting so weird for so long!"

Akihiko felt a scowl coming on at that. He hadn't been acting weird… Had he? No. All he'd done was use writing as an outlet for his emotions- like _she_ told him to. _Honestly, there's just no pleasing this old nag…_

Said old nag was shaking her head at the author.

"You're still completely hung up on Misaki, aren't you?" When Akihiko confirmed this with a slight, unashamed dip of his head, her forehead creased once again. "Usami-sensei, that's not… healthy."

"Neither is smoking," he replied, nodding at the carton on the table. "But since when have I given a damn about that?"

"So…" She replaced the manuscript, resting one hand on top of it. "You're saying you're gonna spend the rest of your life moping and writing depressing metaphors about you and Misaki?"

One by one, Akihiko laid his legs over the coffee table. "Yup."

Her face was not impressed. "You're ridiculous."

This time, Akihiko really did scowl. The cigarette paused halfway to his lips.

"It's not ridiculous to miss someone I love."

Hearing him say 'love' seemed to increase Aikawa-san's annoyance; she pursed her lips, before leaning towards her author and looking him intently in the eyes.

"Sensei, it has been _months_ ," she said, annunciating each word separately, like she was trying to explain something to a dumb kid. "To hang on for that long _is_ ridiculous. You have got to move on."

Holding her gaze, Akihiko reached down and put out his smoke, screwing it into the ash tray. Amethyst eyes narrowed dangerously.

"And how do you expect me to do that," he asked, "if you're going to _send Misaki over here_ knowing full well just how difficult it would be for both of us?"

That was why they'd fought before, Akihiko had come to realise. It was the intensity of being in such a nostalgic situation- standing in Akihiko's kitchen with Misaki cooking for him. It had stirred up chaos within them. Anywhere else they wouldn't have argued, but here their emotions and memories had taken control.

Upon hearing him say that, Aikawa-san faltered. Her pink lips parted, but the words were delayed on the way out.

"Well, I thought-"

She tried to backpedal, but Akihiko- seriously irritated now- was having none of it.

" _And_ you told him about Sakae," he spat.

"It was an accident." Seeing that he wasn't convinced, she tried, "I was only trying to help you, sensei."

Akihiko scoffed. He knew he shouldn't, but he flicked open his lighter and snatched up another cigarette.

"Well, thanks a bunch for your help," he said coldly. "Now he just hates me even more."

Beneath the smart, stylish blouse she was wearing, Aikawa-san's shoulders were high and tense.

"If you don't want him to hate you," she said, "Have some consideration for him- _and yourself_ \- and refuse the engagement."

 _Don't you think if I could do that, I would, you idiot woman?!_

Akihiko was well and truly pissed now. Of _course_ he didn't want to just replace Misaki with some woman, like he was an object- But how was he supposed to refuse his father without still hurting his beloved?

However, the weary novelist didn't feel like another row, so he simply folded his arms and said,

"The engagement is none of your business." Unmoved by her wounded look, he added, "And neither are my reasons for writing. All you have to worry about is the grammar and getting it to the printers before the deadline."

Even as he spoke, he knew he was being unfair- Aikawa-san was so much more to him as an editor than just a spellcheck. But he'd had enough of this. All he wanted to do was love Misaki, and everyone seemed to be going out of their way to stop him.

Aikawa-san was looking at him with large, sad eyes. "So, you're not going to change the ending?"

"No," he said. "We publish it as it is."

She left without arguing. The manuscript was proof-read and taken away to the printers, about to project Akihiko's words and thoughts and feelings onto the rest of the world. As the sun went down outside, Akihiko remained on the couch, smoking his cigarette down to the tiniest stub. Grey, tobacco-scented fumes floated all around him, peppered with dust motes, and he breathed them in without a care.

It was over. His book was done. And, although he had ninety-nine other problems to worry about, Akihiko somehow felt as though his one ultimate objective had been achieved; like his entire life had been leading up to the moment that book was finished, and now that moment had passed and he was at a loss. For months, that story had consumed the vast majority of his life. He felt strange now that there was no more of it to write; what was he supposed to do now?

Truth be told, he didn't really feel like doing anything.

 _How about figuring out how the hell you're going to fix this mess with father and the Yamatos?_ Said the sane part of him. _Or thinking about what an unadulterated asshole you've been to the man you're supposed to love?_

Akihiko's heart plummeted again at that. He still couldn't believe some of the stuff he'd said. His thumb and forefinger squeezed the bridge of his nose. What a mess he'd gotten himself into…

Then, a vibration against his leg. Sighing, Akihiko dug out his phone. If it was anyone other than his father or maybe Hiroki, he wasn't answering.

He saw the contact photo, and his heart stopped.

"Misaki…"

* * *

 **I wasn't sure if I should include the phone call, but it seemed like the right thing for Misaki to do. Let me know what you thought of it. Hopefully those of you who are pissed off with him will see it as a little bit of atonement. ^^**

 **As always, thank you for reading and _please_ review because it helps me out. Speaking of which, I added a new oneshot to my collection the other day (it's a sunny, summery fluff-fest). That fic doesn't get nearly as many reviews as this one, so if anyone could find the time to check out and review its new chapter, I'd be super grateful. :)**

 **Also, to the guest user who's been spamming me with reviews, I don't know who you are, but I thought you deserved a shoutout for all the lovely comments you've left me over the past couple of days. So, thank you for those! :)**

 **Hope you guys are still liking the story? I'll try and get the next chapter done ASAP- There's going to be yet more drama very soon... ;) (Plus, with Akihiko's book on the shelves, I'm sure you can guess what's going to happen.)**

 **See you next time!**


	34. Chapter 34

**Hi everyone! Are you ready for more drama? :D**

 **In case anyone is wondering, I have found a cover artist now. :)**

* * *

People jostled Misaki as they passed him, trying to text his brother in the middle of a busy street. Shuffling out of the way, he pressed himself against the wall of the nearby bookstore. It was really crowded today; a line of shoppers snaked out of the doorway and halfway down the street.

At last, he managed to dig out his phone, tapping out a text to Takahiro as quickly as he could. They were supposed to be meeting at a coffee shop, but Misaki had waited at the bus stop for half an hour and he was starting to worry.

 _I hope he hasn't hurt himself…_ Misaki thought, biting his lip. Takahiro's cast was almost ready to come off, but the doctor had warned that if he didn't take it easy on the leg, he could end up damaging it again. It would be just like Misaki's air-headed brother to re-injure himself right when he was nearly healed.

 **nii-chan why werent you on the bus?** he typed. **are you ok?**

Seconds later, his phone buzzed in response.

 **I'm fine! I just missed the train because of my stupid leg :( Sorry Misaki! DX I'm on the way now, have you been waiting long? X**

 **no im outside marimo books. should i just go and we can meet at kuma cafe?**

 **Oh good! ^_^ Actually, would you mind waiting at the book store? There's this new novel out that's had really good reviews, so I might as well buy it while we're there! X**

Well, that explained the line. Peering down the long procession of people, Misaki started a text telling Takahiro not to bother, the wait would be too long- but he deleted it when he realised Takahiro probably didn't care. Sometimes he forgot how much of a bookworm his older brother was.

Instead, he told Takahiro (grudgingly) that he'd save him a spot in line, beginning a reluctant traipse towards the back of the queue as he did so.

"Guess I'll have to wait a little while longer for my frappuccino…" he mumbled, glancing up from his phone. Everyone in line was either bouncing on the balls of their feet or chattering excitedly, craning their necks to see how close they were to gaining entry. Not being much of a reader himself, Misaki couldn't say he understood their enthusiasm. What was it about this brand-new book that had so many people practically trampling one another for it? If it had garnered so much attention so fast, he supposed it must be pretty amazing…

" _Oof!"_

Absorbed in his thoughts and his phone, Misaki managed to walk smack into the smart-suited front of another pedestrian. Dusting himself off, he cursed himself for his clumsiness and looked up, blushing.

"I'm sorry, sir, are you- _eh?!_ "

Misaki almost jumped back a foot when saw the man in front of him. Looking down at him was a familiar face. Aged, distinguished and with eyes the colour of steel, it wore a surprised expression that slowly pulled into a tight-lipped smile.

"Why, if it isn't Takahashi-kun."

 _Of_ all _the people to run into…_ Flustered, Misaki straightened up stiff as a board and stammered, "G-g-good afternoon, Usami-san…"

His greeting was followed by a wobbly bow, which Fuyuhiko returned with a shallow, graceful one of his own. Though he normally hated to be rude, Misaki had no desire whatsoever to prolong their meeting, and so attempted to carry on without any of the usual formalities. Before he could take more than one step, however, a steady arm reached lazily out and halted him.

Gulping, Misaki looked up. Fuyuhiko was calmly but firmly barring his way, regarding him with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Stay and chat for a minute," he said (ordered?). His lips peeled away from his teeth. "It's been far too long, Takahashi-kun."

"I-I suppose it has…" Misaki mumbled, looking at his feet. He didn't trust that friendly tone in the slightest. _He must know_ , Misaki thought, _He must know that I'm not living with Usagi anymore by now…_

What exactly that meant for him, Misaki had no idea, but something told him it wasn't good.

It was a warm day in the middle of June, but Fuyuhiko was covered head-to-toe in a black suit. He held a glossy, black briefcase in one hand that was even more expensive than Misaki's. The other hand, he slipped into the pocket of his smart trousers. Standing beneath him, so dignified and immaculate and somehow hostile-looking, Misaki felt as though he were six inches tall.

There was an awkward pause. The older man watched him silently for a few moments before speaking.

"You work for Ryuichiro-kun now, don't you?" he asked, feigning nonchalance.

Without lifting his head, Misaki nodded. "Yes, sir. In editorial."

"He says you're doing a good job." Grey eyes then looked Misaki up and down like he was a piece of meat or something. "I must say, I was rather surprised to hear that you'd gotten off to such a good start."

Though it was obviously a thinly veiled insult to the editor, Misaki chose not to show he was irked. Instead, he forced his lips into a civil smile and replied,

"I guess I was just in the right place at the right time, you know?"

This time, there was no mistaking the sardonicism in Fuyuhiko's tone. "I should certainly think so."

 _That's it_ , Misaki thought. _I don't have to stand here and listen to this guy belittle me._ He was honestly so sick of these rich, business-y types, always judging Misaki and treating him like some inferior species.

Clearing his throat, he tried once again to push past the elderly gentleman. "Well, anyway, I should-"

"You know, I think I owe you my thanks."

Misaki knew it was intended to make him stop. He knew, and yet he fell into the trap anyway, freezing in his tracks and turning to look over his shoulder.

"Thanks?"

A single nod. Cold, grey eyes seemed to pierce through Misaki's.

"For finally rejecting Akihiko."

A jolt shot through Misaki at that. So, he was right; Fuyuhiko knew. But, he was claiming to be _thanking_ Misaki? The younger man wasn't sure what that meant, but the vibes he was getting from Fuyuhiko were anything but thankful.

"Though I'm sure I needn't remind you of our _conversation_ a few years ago…" His voice hardened when he said that, and he gave Misaki a pointed look. "I've decided it's only right to forgive you, even after I swore I wouldn't."

In all honesty, Misaki had forgotten all about Fuyuhiko and his threats of what would happen if he hurt Usagi-san in any way- but he was certainly remembering them now. Still, he didn't think Fuyuhiko had the right to just swagger up and start talking to Misaki like this. He restrained an eye roll.

"How gracious of you."

Either Fuyuhiko didn't hear Misaki's muttered retort or ignored it. He examined his fingernails as he continued.

"I think he's learned an important lesson or two from it, you see," he said. A faint yet horribly smug smile crept over his features as he looked back at Misaki. "And while I wasn't exactly pleased to hear the news that you two had separated, it did happen to come at an opportune time for me."

Misaki narrowed his eyes. When it became clear what Fuyuhiko meant- and that he thought Misaki was oblivious to it- anger bubbled up inside him. And, although he knew it was probably a bad idea, he couldn't hold back his next remark.

"You mean, the opportune time to force your son into a marriage he doesn't want?"

For the first time ever that Misaki could recall, Fuyuhiko faltered. The corners of his mouth turned down abruptly. He and Misaki stared at each other for a while, two completely still figures amidst the bustling crowd, both daring the other to speak first.

It was Fuyuhiko who broke the silence. "You've spoken recently, then?"

"Once or twice," said Misaki.

A thin, straight line replaced Fuyuhiko's mouth. He leaned a little closer to Misaki, who tried his utmost not to shrink away.

"Well then, Takahashi-kun, allow me to explain something to you." He definitely sounded different now; the words were coated with ice. "I am not forcing Akihiko to do anything. I gave him a choice."

He was uncomfortably close, and Misaki was beginning to feel hot. The older man smelled of some costly, pungent perfume, and his cold eyes seemed to bore right through Misaki, but he held them.

"Sounds to me like you're blackmailing him."

Fuyuhiko arched an elegant eyebrow. "Is that what he told you?"

"Well…" Misaki hesitated. "Well, no…"

"Then what right do you have to make accusations like that?" he demanded, fixing Misaki with a dangerous glower.

The smart thing to do, Misaki reasoned, would be to apologise, keep his mouth shut and move on before this went any further. Fuyuhiko was clearly furious with him. But the fact was, he wasn't the only one who was losing his patience. Misaki's fists were clenching. As Fuyuhiko stood over him, sneering down his nose like he was looking at some sort of insect, an image of Usagi-san's tired, troubled face flashed in Misaki's mind, and he felt a sudden need to say something- anything- to defend him, ex-boyfriend or not.

With that in mind, he curled his fingers tightly around the hem of his shirt and took a deep breath.

"Usa- I mean, Akihiko-san's told me all about you, you know," he said. His head was bent and his brow furrowed- his tail between his legs- so he couldn't see Fuyuhiko's reaction as he went on, "I know you wouldn't think twice about manipulating him."

From above Misaki came a scoff of amusement.

"You claim that _I'm_ the one manipulating him, after you strung him along for four years and then abandoned him?"

Misaki's dark head snapped up. His cheeks were burning, but his eyes were wide and shocked. What the hell was he talking about? Usagi-san was the one stringing _him_ along! And Misaki didn't _abandon_ him…

There were a hundred things he wanted to say to Fuyuhiko at that point, but all he could get out was, "Th-that's not…"

"I _warned_ you about hurting my son, Takahashi-kun," Fuyuhiko interrupted. His lined face as he towered over Misaki was grave, and looked almost as though it had been carved out of stone. "Akihiko rejected my advice again and again and distanced himself from me even further, all because he had complete faith that you would remain by his side.

"And you let him down," he said. It was like an axe dropping down on Misaki. He blinked, and Fuyuhiko gave him a long, hard stare, allowing his harsh words to cut to the deepest point. "I am not the enemy here."

Misaki was beginning to sweat. He wiped his palms on his jeans, reminding himself over and over that this was _none of his business_ and he should just leave- but he couldn't. Not after that last remark.

Squaring his shoulders, Misaki lifted his chin and looked straight into those thundercloud eyes.

"Th-the hell you aren't!" he said. Fuyuhiko raised his eyebrows, but Misaki refused to look away. He wasn't afraid of this bully. He had no right to pin the blame on Misaki. "You have no idea what Usagi-san and I went through! And, and you're hurting him just as much with your dumb marriage scheme!"

His voice picked up volume as he gained more confidence (a few people stared as a result, but never for long). With the shadow the sun was casting on his face, Misaki saw quite clearly the tightening of Fuyuhiko's jaw line.

"I am simply doing what is best for my son." His tone was clipped, each word bitten off angrily and impatiently.

' _What's best for my son'_ …? He couldn't be serious. How could an unwilling, unwanted, entirely loveless marriage benefit Usagi-san in any way?

Misaki's forehead creased. "Don't you want him to be happy?"

It seemed like the obvious question to him, but when he said it Fuyuhiko shook his head and sighed as though it were the most stupid thing he'd ever been asked in his life.

"Good grief," he said, giving Misaki a most patronising look (if he were anyone but Fuyuhiko Usami, Misaki would have probably punched him by now). "You really don't think very highly of me, do you?"

The words 'Well, no, not really' sat on Misaki's tongue, but he swallowed them back as Fuyuhiko folded his arms.

"I am not a stone-hearted monster,' he said; Misaki almost laughed, but he was deadly serious. "Of course I want my child to be happy."

"Then, why-?"

"Akihiko's marriage to Sakae-san, if he agrees to it, will bring him far more happiness than his relationship with _you_ ever did," said Fuyuhiko. His greying hair cast the upper half of his face in darkness. "He simply hasn't seen it for himself yet."

Beside himself, Misaki opened his mouth to retaliate in some way, but before he could say a word Fuyuhiko stooped down again so their eyes were level. His managed to be ice cold and blazing at the same time, like molten metal. This time, Misaki couldn't help it; he took a step backwards.

"And what's more, Takahashi-kun," he hissed, "unless you want to find yourself in an _extremely_ unpleasant situation, I strongly advise that you stay away from my family- especially my son."

Straightening, he turned on his heel and began walking away, stopping only to look over his shoulder for one last, cutting remark.

"You've ruined him enough as it is."

Misaki stared at his retreating back. He was shaking all over now. _You're wrong, you're wrong, you're wrong…_ Even if it had all fallen apart in the end, Misaki had made Usagi-san happy! Much happier than some stuck-up, snobbish fiancé ever could…

Before he'd realised what he was doing, he'd called out, just loudly enough for the elderly man to hear:

"How can you say that?"

Fuyuhiko stopped, but didn't turn around. Clamping his teeth together so hard it sent pain shooting through his skull, Misaki squeezed his eyes shut and shouted, "You're the one refusing your own son a chance at a happy life because you're so miserable with your own!"

It all happened so quickly, Misaki barely registered it. A blur of dark clothes. An ear-splitting _crack_. And then a sharp, stinging sensation against Misaki's left cheek.

Dazed, he shook his head, blinking away stars. He was kneeling on the sidewalk, the jolt of pain when he hit the floor now merely an echo in his bones. His hand was clasping at his cheek, which was smarting. When Misaki removed it and held it up to his eyes, there was a crimson smear of blood in the centre of his palm.

He looked up slowly. Fuyuhiko stood above him with his arm still outstretched, panting slightly. He was staring at Misaki, but already the wild fury in his eyes was fading, giving way to mildly horrified shock.

A warm trickle made its way down Misaki's cheek. Fuyuhiko's hand fell to his side, and for a moment or two they just gaped at each other- until a _click_ and a flash to one side broke them out of their stupor.

The older man whipped his head to the side. Only then did Misaki notice the circle of feet surrounding him; passers-by had gathered around them both, staring and pointing and whispering, and some of them already had their phones in hand. Misaki's face flushed while Fuyuhiko's paled.

"Isn't that the director of Usami Corps?" _Click_ , flash. "Fuyuhiko Usami?"

More whispers. More phones. More photos. Misaki remained on the floor, tarmac digging into the soft skin of his hand, as Fuyuhiko stood helplessly in the middle of the growing crowd, frozen under their disapproving stares like a rabbit in car headlamps. A bead of sweat slipped down his temple. His gaze darted in all directions and then back to Misaki, and the furious fire in his expression began to rekindle.

"You little-!"

Another voice, however, interrupted him.

"Hey! What the hell is going on here?"

All heads swivelled to look behind Misaki, and he twisted to see a young man standing in the doorway of Marimo Books. Two young men, actually; the shorter one hung back warily, whilst the taller one was glaring daggers at Fuyuhiko.

"What did you do to him?" he demanded, pointing at Misaki. He started walking forwards.

The elderly director took one look at the younger man- tall and muscular and with a lot of metal rings piercing his ears- and withdrew, shooting one last dirty look at Misaki before pushing through the crowd and hurrying away down the street. Phones followed him as he went, snapping yet more pictures.

The guy who had frightened him off (he was an employee, judging by his blue apron) ran forward a few steps, shouting after Fuyuhiko's rapidly retreating figure.

"And don't ever come back here, do you hear me?!"

Meanwhile, the murmuring crowd- having each gotten their share of the scoop- had already begun to scatter, the excitement dissipating just as quickly as it had arrived. Nobody even bothered to check if Misaki was okay. The only ones who stayed were those in line outside the bookstore and a gaggle of schoolgirls from inside, who were now clustered around Misaki's rescuer.

"Oh, Yukina-san is so brave!"

"I wonder who that man was…"

All this time, Misaki had just been sitting on the sidewalk, dumbfounded, when suddenly there was a voice in his ear.

"Takahashi-kun, right? Are you okay?"

Looking up, he saw the shorter man from the doorway standing next to him. Now that he was closer, Misaki recognised him as one of the editors from _Emerald_ magazine.

"I'm fine, thank you, Shouta-san," he said, taking his co-worker's outstretched hand. Kisa Shouta (the 'boy lolita' of the famous _Emerald_ club) was regarding Misaki with concerned, brown eyes as he brushed grit from his hands. He peered at Misaki's cheek.

"You sure? Shit, Yukina, he's bleeding!" he said to his companion: the bookstore employee. Having escaped the schoolgirls, Yukina jogged over with a similarly worried look.

Embarrassed by all the attention, Misaki did his best to smile and held up his hands. "Really, it's nothing."

Both other men ignored him.

"Wow. That guy must have hit you really hard…" Yukina's features were still twisted with disgust as he surveyed the damage, but when his eyes met Misaki's, he flashed him a dazzling smile.

"Come on, I'll let you cut the line," he said. "I'm sure I have a Band-Aid for you somewhere…"

Despite his protests, he and Shouta began ushering Misaki towards the bookstore. He looked back at the spot where Fuyuhiko had been as he went. His cheek was still throbbing, his heart still pounding, and he had to hide his hands in his pockets until the tremors went away.

* * *

He tried to brush the Band-Aid off when Takahiro finally arrived, but unfortunately for Misaki, his new friends Yukina and Shouta were there to launch into the whole story as soon as Takahiro asked. It took the editor at least ten minutes just to calm his brother down.

"I can't believe this!" Takahiro exclaimed, about an inch from Misaki's face as he studied the tiny plaster. With his free hand, he grabbed his brother's shoulder. "Misaki, who exactly did this to you?"

Misaki rubbed the back of his neck. "J-Just some random guy I bumped into. I guess I must have rubbed him the wrong way…" he said, and laughed nervously. He didn't like to lie to his Nii-chan, but telling him about Usagi-san's father would also mean telling him the whole story about Misaki's visit the other week and the engagement, which wasn't something Misaki was prepared to do.

Besides, Takahiro was seething. He didn't want to bring about even more Usami-Takahashi feuding.

"How dare he hurt my little brother!" he said, running his thumb over Misaki's hurt cheek like he was six years old. Misaki swatted his hand away.

"Nii-chan, I'm fine," he told him. "Quit fussing."

"But that guy can't just get away with hitting you!" Takahiro near-yelled, earning a few curious glances from the other shoppers (if Misaki could have wished for anything that day, it would have been an invisibility cloak). The older brother looked anxiously through the window, as if he expected Misaki's attacker to reappear any minute. "We should call the police…"

Yukina and Shouta had suggested the same thing, but Misaki wouldn't allow it. There was no point, anyway- Fuyuhiko could simply buy and bribe his way out of any kind of conviction.

He shook his head.

"That's really not necessary, Nii-chan." When Takahiro opened his mouth to protest, he quickly stopped him. "Will you please just let it go? Just this once?"

The elder Takahashi didn't look at all pleased, but he relented, giving his glasses an angry polish before replacing them with a huff.

"Fine," he grumbled. "But I'm so mad at that wrinkled old bastard! Hitting my brother for no good reason…"

People were beginning to frown and look up from their books now, and while Misaki appreciated his brother's concern for him, he was growing seriously mortified. Right when he was about to tell Takahiro to keep his voice down, however, another equally loud one joined the conversation.

"The nerve of some people, right?" It was Yukina, returning from the back room with Shouta behind him and a stack of books under one arm. He started slotting them onto the shelf beside Takahiro, nodding at him in a friendly manner. "Hey, I don't think I told you my name before. I'm Yukina Kou."

Yukina had sandy hair, shiny red-brown eyes and the kind of face that made you feel instantly at ease. It certainly seemed to have that effect on Takahiro as he relaxed and returned Yukina's smile, leaning on his single crutch.

"Nice to meet you, Yukina-kun. Thank you for helping Misaki," he said, reaching out to pat his blushing brother on the head.

Misaki fidgeted shyly. "Yeah, um, thanks, Yukina-san…"

He was so bashful partly because this stranger had witnessed him in a completely humiliating and vulnerable situation, and partly because Yukina was _gorgeous_. Like, male supermodel equivalent. Misaki wasn't usually the type to get all swoony over guys, but there was something about this man's face that seemed to put everyone around him under some sort of spell. It didn't help when he grinned right at Misaki, revealing a row of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth.

"No problem!" Propping himself up on the bookshelf, he looked from Misaki to Takahiro, and something in his expression perked up slightly. "Hey, seeing as you guys are here, we've got some really great new books you could check out…"

"Yukina…" his companion, Shouta, groaned, holding a hand to his forehead. Misaki just laughed. _He must be an expert in reeling in customers by now_ , he thought, eyeing Yukina's perfect form. It was no wonder the bookstore was so popular with schoolgirls.

Meanwhile, an oblivious Takahiro replied, "Actually, I was hoping to buy a copy of _Blood and Cherry Blossoms,_ if you still have any left."

"Ah yes, the latest hit…" Weaving through the pack of people, Yukina made his way to a huge display where most of the crowd was congregating. As he fetched the book, Misaki wrinkled his nose.

" _Blood and Cherry Blossoms_?" he repeated. "That's a weird name."

"It's supposed to be brilliant," Yukina told him upon return. He handed the book to Takahiro. "Nobody's ever heard of the author before, but for a debut novel it's had some really high praise."

Beside him, Takahiro was devouring the book's cover with excited violet eyes. He looked just like Misaki with a new issue of _The Kan_. "Yeah, almost all the reviews have given it five stars. In fact, the writing's been compared a bunch of times with…"

He trailed off. Misaki motioned for him to continue. "With what?"

"Uh, never mind," said Takahiro quickly. One of Misaki's eyebrows lifted. _Weird_ …

Before he could ask any further questions, Takahiro had thrust the book under his nose. "Check it out!"

In all honesty, he wasn't really that interested, but Misaki took the book anyway. It was a thick, glossy hardback. Its design lived up to its title; on the cover was a smoking gun, contrasting gruesomely with the bed of cherry blossoms on which it lay. A splattering of red completed the picture.

"Is this a romance or a thriller?" he muttered, flipping the book over. The back cover answered for him:

 _A gritty tale of love, lies and vengeance, Kareha Fujimoto's refreshing new novel balances romance with suspense and mystery masterfully and will have you on the edge of your seat from start to finish!_

As Misaki read the summary, his eyes widened a little. Romance stories weren't really his thing, but a hard-boiled, kickass police officer hunting down a murderer from his shady past? That part was right up Misaki's ally.

"That… does sound pretty cool, actually," he admitted, handing the book back to Takahiro. His brother looked pleasantly surprised; ever since Misaki was little, he'd been trying to persuade him to read more novels.

"Why don't you get a copy too, Misaki?"

Yukina's copper-coloured eyes had been watching the two of them thoughtfully. When Takahiro said that, he crossed his arms in a decisive manner.

"Tell you what," he said, and plucked another book from the display, depositing it in a surprised Misaki's hands. "You guys can each have a free copy, on me!"

A gasp escaped Takahiro, whose eyes grew starry and wide. "For real?! Thanks!"

Flustered, Misaki blinked at the book in front of him, holding it like he didn't know how to use it. He felt his cheeks pinking up for the umpteenth time that day. "Oh, I-I can't accept such a kind offer, Yukina-san…"

The employee waved a hand. "Don't worry about it- We've already sold, like, a million copies. And I think after the way that jerk from before treated you, you deserve a favour," he added, eyeing Misaki's already bruising face with sympathy. Takahiro nodded his agreement.

"Well, I…" Unable to refuse, Misaki held the book close to his chest and offered Yukina his first genuine smile of the day. "Thank you very much."

He and Takahiro bowed in unison, which Yukina giggled at.

"Not at all. It was nice meeting you two today- Especially you, Misaki-kun," he said to him. Suddenly, Yukina darted to and grabbed Shouta from behind, wrapping his arms around the shorter man's waist. He'd been quietly flipping through a manga while the others talked, but now he yelped in surprise and scowled irritably at his companion. Yukina just grinned from over his dark head.

"Any friend of Kisa-san's is a friend of mine!"

After thanking Yukina and leaving with Takahiro, Misaki couldn't help but give the couple behind him a lingering glance. Shouta was still trapped in Yukina's embrace, complaining and struggling in protest while the taller man only held him tighter. It was obvious now that they were yet another seme-uke pair; Misaki didn't know how he didn't realise sooner.

 _Is there a single straight guy in that entire office?_

Shrugging it off, he followed Takahiro out of the store. The older brother was still fussing over Misaki's hurt cheek. He could definitely feel the bruise forming now; it throbbed painfully every few seconds, making it impossible for Misaki to forget about his encounter with Usagi-san's father just before. Fuyuhiko's words kept echoing cruelly inside his head- particularly that menacing remark right before he left.

 _Unless you want to find yourself in an_ extremely _unpleasant situation…_

A shudder racked Misaki's frame. He hoped it was just an empty threat, but a man as powerful, ruthless and scheming as Fuyuhiko… There was no telling what he might do to the helpless editor.

Despite the sun, Misaki suddenly felt very cold. He tried to shake off the thoughts as he walked alongside his limping brother, and in doing so, found himself thinking something that had never entered his head before in his life.

 _I can't wait to get home and distract myself with that book_.

* * *

 **So, Fuyuhiko finally got a little bit of comeuppance, even if it was at Misaki's expense... And Misaki is finally gonna read the book! Fun fact: As I'm sure most of you know, in Japanese the surname comes first, so Akihiko's penname would be 'Fujimoto Kareha' ('motokare' means 'ex-boyfriend' ^^) Hope you Hatsukoi fans enjoyed the Kisa and Yukina cameos, too- They've become one of my favourite couples of the entire two series. :3**

 **Please let me know what you thought of the chapter. To be completely honest... I'm starting to lose a bit of confidence in this story. Not because I've had negative comments or anything- they've all been lovely- but because you guys have been such great readers, and now that we're getting closer to the end, I'm getting more and more afraid of disappointing you. What you guys think is very important to me, so I've been getting really nervous before posting new chapters even though you're always totally nice to me. It might sound silly to some of you, but I can't really help it. DX**

 **That's not to say you guys shouldn't tell me if there's something you dislike, of course. I guess all I'm saying is: I really appreciate all the feedback and support you've given me so far, and I'll continue to do my best for you; I just hope I won't let anyone down. ^^;;**

 **Nevertheless, I hope the chapter was okay and you guys are still enjoying the story. I would appreciate any kind of feedback you have! Please leave me a review if you have time, and tell me: What do you think Misaki will think of Akihiko's novel?**

 **Whelp, thanks if you read this long lament of mine XD I'll see you all next chapter. Bye! :)**


	35. Chapter 35

**I finally have a cover! It was made by the wonderful shuusetsu, who I strongly advise you check out if you haven't already. Didn't she do a fab job? :D**

 **Anyway, before the chapter I would just like to tell you guys how grateful I am for all the lovely reviews last time. I was getting all silly and worrisome like I always do, but your comments have really given me the confidence boost I needed. I promise from now on I'll stop being pernickety and just focus on doing the best job I can for you guys. ^^;**

 **And that's not the only thing I have to be grateful for, because 400 REVIEWS? How the hell did that happen?! I don't know what I did to deserve such amazing and supportive readers, but THANK YOUUUUUUU! Massive hugs to all of you!**

 **Right, now that I'm done being all gooey... On with the chapter!**

* * *

 _They strung his body up as a warning. He'd been missing for three days when the townsfolk noticed the pink petals; they drifted down into the streets like they did every April, but never before had they been spotted with red. When the crowd climbed the hill to the old sakura tree on that cloudy morning, they found Hitomi Natsuko's elder brother swinging from the broadest bough, a noose around his slashed neck, a gruesome cocktail of blood and cherry blossoms mingling in the dirt beneath his feet._

* * *

"Morning, Misaki," a cheerful Ijuuin greeted, strolling into the break room where his sub-editor sat.

"Mmhm," mumbled Misaki. Only the upper half of his face was visible over the book he held. After buying himself a coffee, Ijuuin took a seat opposite him and smiled.

"You did a great job on my storyboard. Kirishima-san said he couldn't have done it better himself."

Keeping his eyes glued to the book, Misaki sipped at his soda straw. "Mmhm."

"Do you think he might give you a promotion soon?" Ijuuin asked.

Misaki nodded absently and flipped a page. "It sure is, sensei…"

The mangaka looked at him for a few seconds. "Misaki."

No answer. Raising his eyes to the ceiling, Ijuuin sighed and leaned forwards, resting his head on one hand.

"That reminds me, Misaki," he drawled. "I've been recruited to draw a twenty page explicit Boy Love story for a notoriously indecent magazine, and as my sub-editor you're required to help me with a little research, if you catch my drift."

Very slowly, a frown spread across Misaki's face. He looked up.

"Wait, what?"

Ijuuin laughed at him.

"You're really into that new book, huh?" he said, gesturing to Misaki's copy of _Blood and Cherry Blossoms_. "You've had your nose buried in it for days."

With a sheepish smile, Misaki bookmarked his page and reluctantly laid the hardback to one side. Its edges were already looking battered; Misaki had been carting it everywhere he went, reading whenever he had a spare minute.

"Sorry, sensei," he said. He sighed in a dreamy sort of way. "The story's just so easy to get lost in, you know?"

Ijuuin smiled in understanding. He peered at the book. "The writing's good, then?"

Misaki nodded vigorously.

"Sensei, it's _amazing_ ," he gushed, stars lighting his eyes. "I don't know what it is about it, but I've never read anything like this before…"

He wasn't exaggerating. Most of the time, Misaki was so disinterested in novels that he never bothered to thoroughly chew and digest the language; he processed it mechanically, letting the words run through his brain without penetrating his heart in the slightest, taking in information and nothing more.

But _Blood and Cherry Blossoms_ ,somehow, was different. It entranced Misaki- and not just because he was a sucker for suspense stories. It was the actual writing. Fujimoto's carefully honed narrative didn't just _tell_ him things; it transported him into another world, transformed him into completely different people as the story dictated. He tasted the same fear the characters felt, tingled with the same joy, boiled with the same rage and grief. Whenever he opened that book, it was as though the author had reached right out of the pages and into Misaki's heart, pulling and plucking at the strings however they pleased.

Even during that kiss scene, Misaki- despite an inherent dislike of mushy stuff- had found himself practically tearing the book apart in anticipation, his heart pounding in his chest and fingers leaving sweaty indents in the pages. He still wasn't sure why.

Although… Misaki couldn't deny that the picture Fujimoto had painted then had brought to mind a rather treasured memory of his own. The dark, snow-blanketed street… Flakes gleaming whitely in the lamplight as they drifted over two embracing bodies… Biting cold melted by the warmth of another person… The soft, strange, spellbinding sensation of another's lips on his for the first time…

"Usually, I get bored reading novels," he murmured. "But the way Fujimoto-sensei writes about things makes me feel like I'm really there…"

A shiver rushed over him as he thought of the kiss scene. Its resemblance to _that_ night four years ago was so close it was uncanny. Maybe that was why it had affected Misaki so.

Across the table, Ijuuin took a pensive swig of coffee.

"You know, I've been with Marukawa for years, but I've never even heard of a Kareha Fujimoto before," he remarked. "But suddenly it seems like his or her book is all anyone is talking about."

"Yeah…" Picking up the book again, Misaki studied the dust jacket before flipping it open. The author's name was printed everywhere in large, bold letters but there was no picture inside or anywhere else. It wasn't even clear whether the writer was male or female.

Shrugging, he sucked on his straw. "I guess it's one of those overnight sensations. Like _The Kan_ ," he added, looking back up at his sensei.

Much like _Blood and Cherry Blossoms_ , _The Kan_ had seemingly just popped up out of nowhere, but it had been an instant hit. The first volume had sold out all over the country, and Kyo Ijuuin had gone from a complete nobody to one of the most well-known mangakas in Japan in the space of a year.

Ijuuin smiled modestly at the praise but didn't add any further comment. Instead, he changed the subject.

"Speaking of _The Kan_ , there's only a couple more days until the movie premier," he said. His pleased smile only grew at the sight of Misaki's excited grin.

"Oh, yeah! I can't wait," he said, bouncing a little in his seat. His ticket was still safely tucked away in his wallet for the big night. "Do you think it'll be good?"

"I hope so," Ijuuin said, and flashed his teeth. "Because if it goes down well, it may just land me an invite to next month's party."

When Misaki gave him a blank look, he explained, "Some author or other here just won a very prestigious award, so Isaka-san's throwing one of his big parties to celebrate- Well, really just to bring the company more publicity.

"Only the most distinguished of guests will be invited," he went on, sniffing a little, "but if the movie is well received, Isaka-san will probably invite the director, and if he invites him he'll have to invite me."

"Ah. So…" Misaki tilted his head, "you like those big parties, then, sensei?"

He nodded. "Why, don't you?"

"Not really," his editor confessed, rubbing the back of his neck. "They're always so ritzy, it just makes me feel out of place."

Ijuuin swirled the contents of his paper cup. "You realise if I'm invited, you and Kirishima-san will have to go with me?"

"Huh?" The soda can paused halfway to Misaki's mouth. "I mean, I get that Kirishima-san's the chief editor and everything, but why would _I_ have to go?"

After all, Misaki was still more or less a newbie, with little more knowledge about the publishing industry than he'd had when he last attended one of Marukawa's parties- and that was only because Usagi-san had dragged him there.

 _ **Remember afterwards, in the hotel room when he-**_

 _Shut up shut up shut up!_

"The editors always go with the artists to these things," Ijuuin was telling him. He was regarding Misaki's blushing face with faint amusement, oblivious to the real reason behind the redness. "There'll be lots of people wanting to exchange business cards- especially with a young upstart like you, Misaki," he teased.

Though Misaki laughed, he felt a twinge of guilt at Ijuuin's words; it was only by pure chance and luck he'd risen to his current position so quickly, after all. Plus, if it weren't for him, it would be Shizuku getting opportunities like the premier and the party… Although it wasn't really his fault, Misaki couldn't help but feel as though he'd robbed the other editor of something rightfully his.

 _But it was him that wasn't working up to scratch_ … Again, however, Misaki was uncertain; he hadn't forgotten Shizuku's claims that someone had sabotaged him. Moreover, the sneers and glares he sent in Misaki's direction whenever he saw him made it clear that Shizuku still blamed his replacement for everything that had happened to him.

He chewed his lip. Maybe it really was all his fault…

"Misaki?"

His head snapped up once again.

"Hm? Oh, uh…" Scolding himself for all his spacing out, Misaki fumbled on the table and hastily grabbed his book, with what he hoped was a breezy smile. "I was just thinking, you said only the company successes are invited to the party, right? I wonder if Fujimoto-sensei will be there."

It was said as a means of saving face (voicing his concerns to Ijuuin would just make him worry, after all), but Misaki quickly realised that he really would like to meet the author if he could- he hadn't even finished the book yet, but he knew it was going to be one of his all-time favourites. In fact, no novel had _ever_ had Misaki so captivated as this one, and he wanted its creator to know that. Perhaps an invite to the party wouldn't be such a bad thing.

Ijuuin hummed quietly to himself

"I certainly hope so," he said. His gaze dropped to the book- tightly clasped in Misaki's hands like something precious- and swept over the name on the cover before finding Misaki's again.

"In fact, I'd be very interested to meet the author, seeing as I seem to have a rivalry with them now."

Misaki looked up sharply- afraid that he'd irritated his sensei without meaning to- but there was no real jealousy in Ijuuin's expression, only mirth. Trying to discreetly tuck the book out of sight, Misaki offered him an uncertain laugh.

"Oh, don't worry about that, sensei- I'll always love _The Kan_ more than anything!"

Dark blue eyes glittered at him over the coffee cup.

"I know you will," said Ijuuin. Setting the cup down, he added, "Well, whether Fujimoto is there or not, if I'm invited to the party I hope you'll go with me…"

To Misaki's surprise, Ijuuin suddenly leaned over the table towards him, bringing his head down to whisper in his ear.

"Not just to the party, but to the hotel room afterwards…"

Misaki leapt away, flushing to the tips of his ears. "S-s-sensei!"

The mangaka snickered. "I'm _joking_."

Clasping his hands in his lap, Misaki turned his face, still burning, to the side. He knew Ijuuin was just messing around with him, but… In all honesty, he wished his sensei wouldn't say things like that. Not only was it embarrassing, it reminded Misaki of that uncomfortable encounter with the drunken mangaka a few weeks ago. He didn't like to think that, behind his cheerful façade, Ijuuin was the same miserable wreck he'd been on that day, longing for a love that Misaki couldn't give him.

But he was probably overthinking that… Right?

Unaware of his editor's troubled thoughts, Ijuuin chuckled, still leaning across the table.

"Silly Misaki," he said, and poked the boy's cheek that faced him. Immediately, Misaki flinched at the dull pain, and Ijuuin frowned and drew his hand away. He rubbed his thumb and finger together, examining the flesh-coloured substance now staining them.

"Why is there makeup on your face?"

Swallowing, Misaki turned his still-tender cheek the other way, hiding it from view. "I don't know what you mean, sensei."

Ijuuin's eyes narrowed. "Misaki…"

Inwardly, Misaki cursed. He'd woken up the previous day and found that the red mark on his cheek had bloomed into an ugly, bluish-purple blemish, contrasting starkly with his fair skin. The blurry photos of Fuyuhiko striking him had already begun to pop up all over the internet, and Misaki- not wanting to draw any more attention to himself- had dug out the old concealer stick (something he only owned because of the marks Usagi-san used to leave on his neck). He'd hoped it would keep anyone from recognising him from the pictures, but now Ijuuin had noticed it had totally backfired.

Thoroughly unconvinced, the mangaka sat slowly back in his seat and crossed his arms. He eyed Misaki with a mixture of suspicion and concern.

"Is there something you're not telling me?"

He exhaled. _Why is it he can always see right through me?_ "Yes… But I'd rather not talk about it, if that's okay," he muttered.

When he received no response, Misaki hesitantly raised his head. Ijuuin was still looking at him, staring him in the eyes with a significantly softened expression.

"I'll worry about you if you don't," he murmured.

Misaki's shoulders tensed.

 _I'm causing him more trouble…_

"O-okay," he began after a pause. "Well…"

And he told Ijuuin the whole story. The argument with Usagi-san at his condo, his father's plans for him to marry, his encounter the other day with Fuyuhiko. The mangaka listened calmly for the most part, masking any surprise he might have felt- but when Misaki came to the part where Fuyuhiko had slapped him, the man sitting opposite him visibly bristled.

"Wait, those pictures and videos that have been going around-!"

Misaki nodded. "Please don't tell anyone," he said in a small voice. "I don't want everyone asking me awkward questions…"

"I won't, but…" Ijuuin shook his head in disbelief. "He really _slapped_ you? Just because you stated a fact?"

"I made him angry," Misaki said. His gaze was fixed on the table, fingernails picking at a dried coffee stain. "To be honest, I think I sort of deserved it…"

Ijuuin clicked his tongue at that. "What have I told you about-"

"Having more self-worth, I know, I know," Misaki said. Slim shoulders rose and fell. "But seriously, it was my fault for saying what I did.

"I mean, I was only trying to stand up for Usagi-san, but I guess it wasn't really my place to bring something like that up…"

He scratched the bridge of his nose awkwardly. A few seconds of silence. Then, very, very quietly, Ijuuin asked,

"Why were you standing up for him?"

Misaki blinked at him. He was looking out of the window as he spoke, steam from his coffee curling up past his face. Unsure of how to answer, Misaki shifted a little in his seat.

"It just… seemed like the right thing to do."

Blue eyes then swivelled back in his direction, and Misaki could have sworn he saw a shadow fall over them.

"You'd defend him even though he's thinking of marrying someone else? After all he put you through?"

An edge had hardened his voice just a bit. _Uh-oh…_ With a deep, long breath in and out, Misaki nodded. "I guess I would."

The mangaka didn't say anything in response; he just sipped his coffee. All the previous animation had left his features. Misaki knew he was angry, though he didn't quite understand why. It didn't matter what he and Usagi-san had been through- Misaki should still stick up for him if it was the right thing, shouldn't he?

Still, the atmosphere suddenly surrounding Ijuuin unnerved Misaki. Draining his soda can, he stood up abruptly and grabbed his messenger bag and briefcase.

"A-anyway, Kirishima-san's probably wondering where I am," he said, swinging the strap over his shoulder. "I'll see you later, sensei."

He started towards the door, but was stopped when a hand landed on his shoulder. He stiffened. Before Misaki could even turn around, there was a voice, uncomfortably close to his ear.

"Misaki," Ijuuin said. "You don't _need_ anyone who'll treat you that way. You need someone who will protect you.

"Like me."

Without giving him time to answer, Ijuuin removed his hand, walked around Misaki and disappeared through the door without so much as a backwards glance in his direction. Misaki stared after him, rooted to the middle of the empty room. Blood rushed to his cheeks and made his bruise ache.

"What's that supposed to mean…?" he muttered.

 _ **Like you don't know.**_

The editor gritted his teeth. Clutching the strap and his briefcase handle tightly, he hurried to the _Japun_ office as quickly as he could, the heavy book in his bag bumping against his thigh with every step.

* * *

 **This would have been a double update, but I didn't manage to finish the Usagi-san POV section by tonight, and I didn't want to keep you all waiting since this chapter is already a bit later than usual. Sorry about that- it's because I've had a busy week and totally not because I've been procrastinating watching sports anime and writing stupid oneshots *cough* Anyway, I promise I'll try and finish the next bit quickly, and you'll see what Usagi-san has to say to Fuyu-fuckingpieceofshit (his new name, courtesy of Silent ShadowRaven) XD**

 **I hope you guys liked the chapter. Please let me know your thoughts- I love hearing from you all. ^^**

 **Until next time, my lovely readers. :)**


	36. Chapter 36

**Haaahhh... I said I'd have this chapter up ASAP. Sorry, guys- not only did I have a bit of writer's block with this one, I've just been super busy these past couple of weeks. I thought you guys would rather have a longer wait than a rushed chapter, but still, I am sorry it took so long. DX**

 **By the way, I would like to thank everyone who wished me good luck for my exam results (not that anyone really cares, but I got three As and a B :D). Looks like it really did the trick!**

 **This chapter is nice and long, though as I stayed up quite late finishing it there may be a few missed typos. Still, I really hope it makes up for the wait.**

* * *

Akihiko felt zombielike as he returned home.

Though it was a warm afternoon, the sky was smothered with grey, and the stillness of the city air was unnerving. It would probably start thundering soon. Not that Akihiko was really paying attention to the weather as he parked and made his way up. His gaze was turned inwards, to himself.

 _Did I really just do that?_

The second his hand touched the doorknob, however, a muffled noise from inside startled the author alert. He paused for a moment, confused, but then his brow cleared; Aikawa-san said she was going to drop by today. He'd completely forgotten.

Akihiko sighed to himself. If he saw her, he'd have to tell her. She was going to kill him. He looked at his hand, still resting on the doorknob. Should he go somewhere else for a while…?

After a moment or two, he twisted the knob and went inside. She was going to find out eventually.

His editor was in the kitchen when he entered, loading the dishwasher. Upon hearing Akihiko, she twisted around and clicked her tongue at him.

"There you are. Where have you been?" She picked up a grime-encrusted dinner plate and grimaced. "Your house is disgusting, sensei."

Akihiko just grunted. Toeing his shoes off, he trudged into the lounge and immediately flopped onto the couch; his limbs felt like lead. A cloud of dust billowed around him as he sat, and he had to grudgingly admit that Aikawa-san was right. Not that it mattered. The mess was the last thing on his mind.

" _Blood and Cherry Blossoms_ just topped our bestseller's list," she told him, sounding not nearly as excited as she normally would given that the book was only published a month ago. She didn't make eye contact with him as she stacked the dishes, cutlery clanking together loudly. "You've got a proposal for a movie adaptation and two award nominations already."

Digging out a pack of smokes (he'd already gotten through four of them in the car), Akihiko flicked open his lighter without responding. As long as the book was out there, he couldn't have cared less about movies or awards or any of that nonsense. Aikawa-san, on the other hand, sounded very displeased by all the attention he was getting.

She'd been off with him ever since she found about the book. Once she'd realised its true meaning, in fact, Aikawa-san had read the entire thing all over again- the worshipful, poetic passages about Hitomi that had once made her squeal now drawing sighs, headshakes and irritated eye rolls from her.

Akihiko- who was perhaps a little too emotionally invested in his novel- had been irked. "If you liked it the first time through, why don't you like it now?" he'd asked.

"Because now it doesn't feel romantic anymore," she'd replied. There was a disturbed frown on her face as she flipped through her new copy. "Now it just reads like the creepy diary pages of some obsessive guy who can't get over his ex."

Normally, Akihiko wouldn't give a rat's ass what others thought of him- But Aikawa-san was his friend, and that hurt. He'd tried to explain how much the book had helped him, but his editor wouldn't be swayed; she'd said it was 'detrimental' for him to still be writing such things about Misaki.

"You're way too hung up on him," she'd told him. He remembered seeing the worry in the depths of her blue eyes. "And you're too hard on yourself! That ending, when he… Is that what you think should happen to _you_?"

Akihiko hadn't answered.

They hadn't really spoken properly since, unless it was work-related. Even now, with the huge success of her favourite author's newest novel, Aikawa-san wasn't acting like her usual, bubbly self. The silence felt awkward. The only sounds were those of rattling crockery and Akihiko's puffing on his cigarette, trying and failing to draw some comfort from the nicotine. He used to find Aikawa-san's energetic antics irritating; it was odd how he now found himself missing them. Dread curdled in his stomach as he watched her coldly turned back.

 _If she's annoyed with me now…_

"Speaking of awards, Isaka-san's throwing a party for Nakajima-sensei in two weeks," she said. Slamming the dishwasher shut, she finally turned around and looked at him. "He wants you to attend as well."

He exhaled a jet of smoke. "Okay."

Above the dishwasher button, a manicured finger paused in surprise. Aikawa-san blinked at him.

"That's it?" she said. "Just 'okay'?"

"What?"

"What do you mean, what?" Setting the dishwasher off, she left the kitchen and took a seat on the opposite couch. "It normally takes at least a week of badgering before I can get you to go anywhere- especially to a party."

Unable to think of an answer, Akihiko just shrugged and said, "I can't be bothered arguing with you right now."

"So… You'll definitely go?" she asked, eyeing him doubtfully.

He didn't blame her for being suspicious; in the past, Akihiko had fought tooth and nail to escape those tedious evenings of pretences, airs and graces at some gaudy hotel or another. Not that he was any less opposed to the idea now, but… after everything that had just happened, whether or not he was forced to dress up and smile for a few hours just didn't seem so important anymore.

"Sure, what the hell," he said. It was easier than protesting. After a moment's consideration, he added, "As long as I'm just there as Akihiko Usami- I don't want my penname getting out."

Already, the elusive Kareha Fujimoto had garnered quite a bit of attention from the literary community. Many had twigged that it was a pseudonym, but all attempts to uncover the mystery author's true identity had been in vain. Not even Hiroki knew the truth.

Aikawa-san tossed her hair.

"That's a shame," she said, her eyes narrowing just fractionally in the author's direction. "I'm sure there'll be a lot of people hoping to meet 'Fujimoto-sensei' and give him a piece of their mind."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Akihiko, even though he knew. Another reason Aikawa-san was unhappy the book had succeeded was because she still wasn't happy with the way he ended it.

"Because of what you did to Yuu," she said, as expected. His editor gave him a pointed look as she did so. "People love the book, but they hate the ending. And some of them hate the author because of it."

Akihiko only responded by stubbing out his cigarette. He was glad they hated him, he thought bitterly as he produced and lit up another. They should hate him. He hated him, too.

"They're right, you know," said Aikawa-san when she received no reply. She leaned forwards in her seat, trying to get him to look at her. "Yuu didn't deserve that. _You_ don't deserve that. Really, the fact that you'd write those things about yourself makes me so angry."

"You're about to be even angrier."

He murmured it without really thinking. At the edge of his vision, he saw his editor sit up a little straighter. "Sensei?"

For a moment, Akihiko hesitated. Then he closed his eyes. He was going to have to tell her sooner or later- Might as well get it over with.

He rested his elbows on his knees. His hands hung limply between them. "I just visited my father," he said.

"You did?" Her voice was instantly wary. "Why?"

Akihiko sighed. Smoke curled from his lips and towards the ceiling.

"It started when I got this text…"

* * *

It was mid-morning when the message came. Akihiko was sitting at the kitchen table, a bottle of whiskey and a crystal glass in front of him (old habits die hard, after all), taking mournful swigs as he thought about his conversation with Misaki.

 _Asshole_ , he berated himself. _You were a total asshole to him, bringing up Ijuuin and all that, and then you let him apologise?_

He set his glass down heavily, tutting in annoyance when he felt spilled whiskey seeping through his shirt cuff. He sighed at the filthy table top. Ever since finishing his book, Akihiko's resolve to keep the place clean had weakened quite a bit, and the penthouse was slowly but surely festering into a pigsty again.

Taking in the mess and the stale-smelling air, Akihiko knew he should right it before it was too late. If only he could find it in him to actually _do_ something. Besides reading. Or drinking.

He should at least change his shirt, he supposed (though even that seemed like too much effort to Akihiko at that moment). Downing the last, burning drops of whiskey from his glass, he rose stiffly from the table and was halfway to the stairs when his phone chimed.

Thinking nothing of it, Akihiko didn't stop walking as he dug out the device and unlocked it, expecting a text from Aikawa-san or possibly Hiroki. When he saw the name on the screen, however, it was enough to halt him in his tracks.

 **You have (1) new messages from: Haruhiko**

 _But he_ never _texts me…_ Hell, he and his brother had been pretty much estranged for at least a year. Though he had no desire to catch up with his insufferable half-sibling, Akihiko couldn't help but feel curious. And slightly afraid.

Haruhiko's message was minimal:

 **Thought you should see this, if you haven't already.** Underneath was a web link to a site Akihiko didn't recognise.

"What the…?" Frowning, he tapped the link and opened it. It took him to some crappy video, a viral thing obviously filmed on someone's cellphone. Akihiko squinted at in confusion. Why would Haruhiko send him this, of all things? He wasn't even sure what it was supposed to…

His body went rigid.

For a long time, he stood and stared at his phone. He had to replay the video four times to be absolutely sure he wasn't mistaken. He wished he was. He could hardly believe what he was seeing.

 _That's… That's…_

In less than five minutes, Akihiko was out of the building, in his car and roaring away down the road, his phone burning a hole through his pocket and his sleeve still stained at the cuff.

* * *

"You son of a bitch, I'll kill you!"

The yell was accompanied by a deafening _slam_ as the door to the enormous office was thrown open, almost flying off its hinges. From his desk at the far end of the room, a surprised Fuyuhiko looked up, eyebrows lifting at the sight of his rapidly advancing son.

"How did you get in-"

He broke off in a cry of alarm as Akihiko lunged for him over the desk, grabbing his father's collar and shoving him roughly backwards. The author's eyes were wild, his pupils constricted, and they reflected Fuyuhiko's indignant face.

"Akihiko!" Somewhat surprisingly, he actually sounded a little afraid. He struggled in his son's iron grip. "Let go of me once! Tanaka! Tanaka!"

A growl built in Akihiko's throat. "Shut your mouth, you piece of shit!"

He didn't take his eyes off the old man, even when running footsteps approached and the Usamis' butler hurried into the room, puffing. When he saw how his younger master had hold of his elder one, his already lined brow creased with worry.

"Akihiko-sama!"

Tanaka started forward, but Akihiko halted him with a furious glare.

"Stay back!" he snarled, before turning back on his father. Slowly, he shook his silver head. "You… You have had it this time, old man," he assured him, leaning closer to Fuyuhiko's whitening face. "I will _not_ let you get away with this!"

Around the old man's receding hairline, sweat was already starting to glisten. His throat bobbed. "What are you talking about, Akihiko?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about!" Akihiko snapped, nearly spitting. His hands were shaking, blood surging around his body. "You scum! How _dare_ you?"

Fuyuhiko winced and tried to back up, but there was nowhere to go. Akihiko knew he was scared. He saw the fear in his wide, grey eyes, the droplet of sweat sliding down his temple, and he relished it. It was about time he had this fuckwit at his mercy for once!

The throat that Akihiko longed to close his hands around bobbed as Fuyuhiko swallowed. "I don't know what you-"

" _How dare you touch him?!"_ he roared. Teeth bared like a savage wolf, he took one hand from Fuyuhiko's collar and raised it behind his head, his fist braced for impact, so he could smash those ugly teeth in and-

"Akihiko-sama, please!"

Blinking once, Akihiko turned his head to the side. Tanaka was standing with one hand outstretched, eyes darting anxiously between the younger Usami and the older. At his feet- when he'd arrived, Akihiko had no idea- was Alexander. He was watching Akihiko with big, brown eyes, ears drooping and head cocked to the side. Over the thundering of his heart in his ears, Akihiko heard the dog whine.

The noise unlocked something within him- a memory. Akihiko was much younger, and he had a teenaged Haruhiko by the collar and his fist poised to punch, just like he had his father now. The dog had been close by, looking at him in the same way.

Breathing heavily, Akihiko stared into his large eyes. Clouded with fury though his mind was, a voice somewhere inside spoke to him.

 _This won't solve anything. You're better than this._

Fuyuhiko's cheek was against the window, recoiling from Akihiko as much as possible. He and everyone else in the room was staring at him. And, though every fibre in Akihiko wanted to bring his fist sailing forwards, he held it. He let his blood cool and the adrenaline ebb. His senses began to return to him; he could hear a faint whining in his ears, smell the varnish of the desktop below him. Finally- very, very slowly, he lowered his hand and stepped back, releasing Fuyuhiko from his grasp.

Two simultaneously sighs of relief came from both of the other men. Whilst Akihiko dropped his head- chest and shoulders still heaving- he heard his father click his tongue irritably.

"Good grief," Fuyuhiko said. When Akihiko looked up, he was fixing his tie with one hand. The other was still braced against the windowsill; he'd regained some of his composure now that Akihiko had let him go, but he still looked shaken. "How my own son grew up to be so uncouth, I'll never know.

"Why did you let him in, Tanaka?" he asked, frowning at the butler. "I told you I didn't want to be disturbed today."

Satisfied that Akihiko wasn't going to injure anybody, Tanaka turned his attention to his older master and bowed.

"My apologies, Usami-sama. I tried to stop him…"

He glanced back at Akihiko as he said this, and now that the initial rush of rage had worn off the author actually felt a little guilty; upon reaching the manor, he'd barged in and pushed past the gentle servant without a single word.

Taking his hand off the windowsill, Fuyuhiko waved it at Tanaka. "Just leave us be."

Tanaka didn't look happy about it, but he did as he was told. He cast one last, concerned look at Akihiko before he left. Alexander, on the other hand, trotted forwards to Akihiko's side, licking one of his still trembling hands.

Akihiko himself was still seething. Now that Tanaka was gone, he was hugely tempted to make another lunge at his father- his dirty, dickish, piece-of-shit father- but he restrained himself. Fuyuhiko always said he had no self-control; he had to prove him wrong. Though, Akihiko supposed it was a little late for that…

"Now, then," said Fuyuhiko. Unlike usual, he didn't look at all happy to see his son (not that he was there seeking fatherly affection). Pushing his chair back beneath his gigantic, oak desk, he made a disgruntled face at Akihiko. "Would you care to explain yourself after that outrageous display?"

This alone had Akihiko's jaw clenching. He folded his arms, tucking his fists safely out of the way. "I should be saying the same to you."

Fuyuhiko raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"Don't play dumb with me!" Akihiko snapped. Pulling out his phone, he unlocked it and opened the link Haruhiko sent him, slapping it down onto the desktop. "What the _hell_ is with this video?"

It was a grainy, shaky piece of footage, depicting a pair of figures so blurred that one could barely make out any defining features. Nonetheless, Akihiko knew them both the minute he saw them. And when the taller figure of his father whirled and struck his Misaki across the face, it had been like a slap to Akihiko himself.

Fuyuhiko peered at the screen from where he stood above it. It was clear that he was familiar with the video; the instant he saw it, his lip curled and he let out an irritated 'tch'.

"This again…" Pushing the phone away, he ran his fingers through his greying hair in a manner similar to Akihiko's. "Honestly, what's the point in paying all that money for a cover-up if interlopers are just going to plaster it all over the internet anyway?"

 _Of course it's the money he cares about…_ Biting back a disgusted snort, Akihiko returned his phone to his pocket. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Why did you go after Misaki and _attack_ him after I specifically told you to leave him alone?" Akihiko demanded through gritted teeth. His father's blatant lack of remorse maddened him. _Nobody_ touched his Misaki and got away with it.

Seeing his son's loathing expression, Fuyuhiko sighed. He began climbing back into his desk chair, his movements stiff and slow like those of a decrepit old man. It looked odd for him, somehow.

"First of all, I did not attack him," he said once he was settled. He laced his fingers together to support the weight of his chin. "He was being insolent, and I lost my temper. Second, I didn't go after him- we simply happened to run into each other."

Amethyst eyes narrowed. "You expect me to believe that?"

"Akihiko, have you any idea of the repercussions this has already had for me?" Fuyuhiko said unexpectedly. "I'd hardly go out of my way to inconvenience myself so."

It was then that Akihiko noticed his father looked different than usual. Seeing as he hardly ever came home, the youngest Usami heir only really saw Fuyuhiko out in public or at important events, when he was all elegance and false smiles and oily words. When he returned to his own home, however, Fuyuhiko peeled off that pleasant façade and hung it up at the front door, allowing a far more natural side of him to surface. Here at his desk, in the comfort of his office, he looked almost… weary. Older, even. His face seemed to have more lines than usual. He was definitely more stressed out about the video than he was letting on; Akihiko was glad.

"Well, it serves you damn right," he said. The video of him hitting Misaki looped in Akihiko's mind, and his hands flopped despairingly to his sides as he stared down at his father. "Why did you have to hurt him?"

As if Fuyuhiko hadn't given Akihiko enough crap about his life choices, he'd been grossly unfair about Misaki from the very start. His son had tolerated it only because Misaki had, but now that Fuyuhiko had actually physically harmed him… He couldn't stand it.

"What did he ever do to you to deserve all the shit you've given him?"

Fuyuhiko snorted. "Surely you're joking," he said, and sat back in his seat. "For the past four years, that boy has been nothing but trouble for me.

"In fact, he should consider himself lucky that I only slapped him," he went on. His face unnerved Akihiko; it had twisted into something darker, uglier. A shadow fell across his eyes as he stared at the far wall. "I'm tempted to make him suffer far more…"

His voice sent ice skittering along Akihiko's bones. He took a step forwards, the muscles in his shoulders and arms already tensing again.

"Don't you _ever_ go anywhere near him again," he said, trying to keep his voice low and steady. When Fuyuhiko only gave a condescending smirk, he bristled. "I mean it, old man! I won't sit back and let you take all your own issues out on him."

Contrary to what Akihiko hoped, his father only looked amused. He sank further into his luxurious leather seat, folding his arms.

"I don't think you're in any position to be making threats, Akihiko." There it was again- that dangerous glitter in his eye. "Need I remind you of our last conversation?"

Akihiko's eyes widened. So did Fuyuhiko's smile, as he saw he had the upper hand once more. "Whether you agree to marry Sakae-san or not, I am fully capable of destroying both you and Takahashi in the blink of an eye- if I so choose."

The author's heart rate was already accelerating. All the threats came rushing back; Misaki; the red photograph… Fuyuhiko leaned forwards again, settling his folded arms on top of the desk. His next words were a murmur.

"If I were you, son, I'd tread very lightly."

 _Don't start shaking, don't start shaking…_ "You're disgusting!" Akihiko hissed, livid. "You think you can walk all over everybody just because you're loaded!"

"Well, that's because I _can_ , Akihiko," he said with a small laugh. "I don't think you understand the true power of wealth."

Anger was resurfacing within Akihiko fast, and he reeled it in. Still, he couldn't keep from slamming his hands against the wooden desktop, causing several objects to jump.

"I don't think _you_ understand that this isn't something your money can get you out of!" he said, hunkering down so he was eye-level with his father. He jabbed an accusing finger in his face. "What you did to Misaki is called _assault_. It's called that whether you have five yen or five million yen. You may have tried to cover your tracks, but if Misaki comes forward, there is no way you'll be able to get off. Not this time."

And Misaki _would_ come forward; Akihiko knew he wouldn't want to, but he could convince him. And he would stand with him against Fuyuhiko. The thought of his father being dragged away in handcuffs was a delicious one.

But to Akihiko's immense annoyance, Fuyuhiko didn't look the slightest bit concerned. He held Akihiko's fiery gaze with a cool, steel-grey one of his own.

"You underestimate your father, boy," he told Akihiko. What he said next threw the novelist for a loop. "Do you think I haven't already had to deal with the authorities, what with those picture spreading like wildfire?"

Though he was still leaning on the desk, Akihiko drew back a little. Fuyuhiko regarded his slackened jaw smugly.

"This isn't the first time I've found myself in a tight spot, you know," he continued calmly. "It's taught me that there's a way out of everything, if you can afford it. You'd be surprised by the amount of people willing to betray their moral for money," he added, looking pleased at his son's shocked expression.

Akihiko was beside himself. He shook his head. "Bastard…"

Fuyuhiko tutted again. "Such a foul mouth. I thought I raised you better than that."

"You're not walking away from this," Akihiko growled. He wouldn't let his father win this time; he was determine to beat him and make him pay. "I'll make _sure_ you're punished. I don't care how long it takes, I'll have you put behind bars and there won't be a damn thing you or your money can do about it!"

"Do that, and not only will every tabloid in the country know about you and Takahashi, but I'll see to it he gets far worse than a slap next time," said Fuyuhiko, rising suddenly.

Akihiko's mouth went dry. His father was only a few inches taller than him, but he seemed to tower over him somehow. All trace of humour had vanished from his face, and Akihiko had no doubt that he meant what he said.

"You can't…" he hated the wavering of his voice, but he couldn't stop it.

" _I_ can't," said Fuyuhiko. "But I know people that can."

When Akihiko tried to speak again, he almost choked on his words. "I can't believe you…"

On the floor beside him, Alexander whimpered in confusion. Akihiko almost felt like whimpering himself. This was so unfair. He was so useless; he'd been so determined to protect Misaki, and not only had he allowed his father to _hurt_ him, now he couldn't even do a single thing about it. Nor would he be able to should Fuyuhiko decide to do something even worse than hitting Misaki… The very idea made his blood run hot and cold at the same time, and he shook his head. "You said you'd stay away from him!"

Fuyuhiko didn't waver. "I said no such thing, Akihiko."

They stood in silence for a while, watching each other. Akihiko was twitching, his breath coming in short, angry bursts. An oblivious Alexander thumped his tail against the carpet. Fuyuhiko simply stood his ground, as calm and composed as could be. The frightened, vulnerable old man he'd been just minutes ago was gone now. He was back where he always fought to be: in power. Complete and total power.

Yes, Akihiko was helpless. He was flagging. His chest was full of despair as he gazed at his father. "Why are you doing this?"

While Fuyuhiko's face didn't exactly soften, something in it definitely changed. He sat down again, looking his son sombrely in the eye.

"Because that boy hurt you, Akihiko, and he still is," he said quietly. Akihiko stiffened as he went on, "I want you to forget about him. Only once you do that can you ever be happy again. I've only ever wanted you to be happy, Akihiko," he stressed. His mouth became a grim line as he looked up at the author. "And if I have to show you that the hard way, so be it."

Akihiko stared at him. How could he say that so seriously? How could he possibly think what he was doing could ever make Akihiko happy? It was as illogical as a square circle; Misaki's happiness was Akihiko's happiness.

But Fuyuhiko would never understand that.

Said man propped his chin up on his fingers again, tilting his head to the side. "Why don't you just give up?" he asked matter-of-factly. "You should know by now that you cannot win against me."

It was true. Just admitting it made Akihiko sick, but it was true. Fuyuhiko Usami was incorrigible. He was the colour of his eyes; he was steel, he was unbreakable. However long and hard Akihiko struggled, he could never, ever win against him.

At least, not on his own.

He looked at where he was standing. Fuyuhiko's office was far bigger than it needed to be, and it looked and felt like a school principal's, the walls lined with bookshelves and the huge desk placed imposingly centre-stage where Fuyuhiko could look his most authoritative. As a boy, Akihiko could only enter the office if he'd been called there- usually because he was in trouble. He remembered the way his palms would sweat and his knees would shake as he stood before his father, the distance between him and the walls and ceiling making him feel so very small. He felt the same way now. Even after so many years, nothing had changed. He was a powerless as ever.

Still, he tried; he held his father's cold, grey eyes for as long as he could as they bore back into his, until finally he could no longer stand it. He dropped his head, staring at the blood-red carpet in defeat.

"Fine." His voice was laced with bitterness. "What do I have to do in order for you to leave Misaki alone?"

He didn't need to look at his father; he could _hear_ the satisfied smile in his voice. "Now, Akihiko, do you really need to ask?"

A wet nose nuzzled Akihiko's hand, and his fingers tightened in long, golden locks. The carpet blurred beneath him. He wouldn't… He _couldn't_ …

But how else could he protect the one he loved?

"Alright, then." His voice was as worn down as he. "I'll marry her."

* * *

 **Aaand here come the angry reviews...**

 **I know you guys won't be happy about the content, but I still hope the chapter was okay- I didn't have a lot of time to proofread. Please let me know what you thought in the reviews, and feel free to bash Fuyuhiko! XD**

 **BTW, there is another chapter after this one with Akihiko and Aikawa-san, and I really wanted to post it at the same time because it links to this chapter, but there was no way I was gonna finish it tonight and I've already kept you guys waiting twice as long as usual. I will try and get it done quickly, but I won't make any promises this time as I'm too afraid of breaking them again ^^; (Plus, I'll be busy after next week because I'll be back in school *cries*)**

 **Anyway. Thank you very much for reading, and I hope the chapter wasn't a flop as I am too tired to tell. See you guys next time! :)**

 **P.S. Only two more days until the new JR chapter is released! :D**


	37. Chapter 37

**Here we go! A super fast update to make up for the super slow one. :3**

 **This is a short one, but I hope you guys like it.**

* * *

"You _what_?"

Aikawa-san's mouth was hanging open, blue eyes nearly popping out of her head. It might have been comical under different circumstances. Across from her, Akihiko sighed smoke clouds.

"I couldn't think what else to do."

"You couldn't think of an alternative to getting hitched to a total stranger?!" she cried, her voice rising a whole octave. Akihiko winced.

"I was afraid, Aikawa-san," he said. He was slumped in the couch corner, holding his head with one hand whilst the other fidgeted anxiously with a cigarette. "Slapping Misaki is one thing, but who knows what he'll do next if I don't give him what he wants?"

That someone had dared to lay a hand on Misaki- even if it was only a slap- infuriated Akihiko enough, but he'd been terrified when he realised how much more his father was capable of doing if he wanted. Hell, if he'd somehow managed to get the _police_ on his side, how hard could it be to recruit a couple of low-life goons to rough Misaki up, or worse? He shuddered at the thought.

Halfway through his story, Aikawa-san had fetched herself a cup of tea, but now she banged it down onto the coffee table so hard that hot liquid sloshed over the sides. She got to her feet.

"But sensei, you _can't_ marry her!" she said, wringing her hands as she paced up and down the floorboards. "How could you let your dad do this? It's crazy!"

It _was_ crazy… So why was Akihiko going along with it?

"Does it even matter?" he suddenly said, surprising both of them. Aikawa-san's brow furrowed. However, as Akihiko rubbed his temples wearily, he realised that he truly did mean what he said. Without Misaki, did anything really matter?

"It's not like I have anything to lose at this point," he said, spitting the words out. They tasted as bitter as gall. That sickening video came to mind again, and his teeth clamped on the cigarette. "Besides, if I don't do it my father will just keep harassing Misaki. I won't allow that."

Based on her previous responses to his decisions, Akihiko fully expected Aikawa-san to start shouting at him, so he was surprised when all she did was stare at him and purse her lips. She walked to the couch and sat heavily beside him, releasing a sigh.

"I knew this would happen."

"Huh?"

He twisted to look at her, confused. Aikawa-san was giving him that strange, mixed look of hers- the one that made him feel scared and pathetic and guilty all at the same time.

"That stupid book was the only thing keeping you going," she said, and threw the copy of _Blood and Cherry Blossoms_ on the table a dirty look. "Now that you're done with it, you've just caved. You're not even trying anymore."

Akihiko scowled. Maybe she was right, but what was the _point_ in trying when the whole world was against him? "I don't care."

"Of course you don't," his editor snorted. "You don't care about _anything_ anymore, except for Misaki."

A puff of smoke. "You're exaggerating."

"Am I?" She folded her arms. "Sensei, he's all you think about! Ever since he left, it's been like nothing and no-one else matters to you."

The author was quiet for a moment. He thought about the past eight months since Misaki broke up with him, and how miserable he'd been. Had a single minute passed, he suddenly wondered, when he wasn't thinking about the man he loved?

He avoided his editor's eyes. "That's… not true…" he mumbled around his cigarette. The plume of smoke quivered ever so slightly.

Honestly, he didn't know why he was bothering to deny it; Aikawa-san had known for months, he was sure. She rolled her eyes at him.

"Come one, sensei. You stayed in a hospital with him for eight hours, you wrote an entire book based on the both of you…" Glancing upwards to the landing, at the locked door of Misaki's old bedroom, she shivered and rubbed her arms. "You even have that creepy Misaki shrine upstairs."

"It's not a 'shrine'," said Akihiko, prickling a little (the room was a touchy subject for them; Akihiko had come home early once and caught his editor trying to throw out half the mementos in there, to his utter outrage). "And what's wrong with any of that stuff, anyway? Just because he dumped me doesn't mean I don't still care about him."

Aikawa-san looked conflicted; her eyebrows knitted together and she fell back against the couch cushions, exhaling. "Yeah, but getting _married_ on the off chance your dad does something to him?" she said eventually. "Isn't that a little extreme?"

A long, drooping stick of ash was threatening to fall from Akihiko's cigarette. He reached over the armrest and tapped it away, screwing the butt into the ashtray. "It's not really such a big deal."

"Oh, you can't mean that," said his editor, but he remained straight-faced.

"I'm serious. So what if I marry Sakae?" Wearily, he drew out a fresh smoke. Sparks fizzled as he flicked the lighter's wheel with his thumb. Once his lungs were swimming with nicotine again, he continued. "It'll only be in writing. I won't have to love her or care for her or even see her. I can just stick a ring on her finger and then carry on as normal."

"You're really willing to do that?" Aikawa-san challenged. The look she gave him was almost pitying. "A marriage built on lies and misery rather than love and happiness?"

 _Just like dear old mom and dad…_ A stream of smoke flew from Akihiko's lips, and he threw up his hands before letting them drop to the couch either side of him. "If it'll get my father to back off, then yes. Why not?"

"Why not?" his editor cried, springing to her feet once again. There were sure to be heel-shaped dents in Akihiko's floor by now. She clenched her fists urgently. "Because marriage is supposed to be a beautiful, magical thing you share with someone you love, that's why not! If you marry this woman, you'll never experience that! You'd be throwing away any hope of finding happiness again!"

"I _have_ no hope of finding happiness again!"

She flinched at his sudden outburst. Akihiko glowered for a few seconds while she stared back at him, wide-eyed, before he turned away, silver bangs falling lankly over his eyes. His voice grew quiet.

"I lost that the second I let Misaki walk away."

Aikawa-san didn't say anything. It was too painful to look at her; besides, Akihiko didn't want anyone, not even his friend, to see his eyes glazed with tears. At least half a minute ticked by before there was any sign of movement from either of them.

It was Aikawa-san who broke the stillness. She took a step towards him, and at the edge of his vision he saw her hand reaching for his shoulder, so close he could smell the perfume on her wrist. Akihiko kept still, waiting for the touch, for any kind of comfort that he wouldn't admit he needed so badly right then.

But it didn't come. His editor's hand withdrew, and he felt her moving away towards the door. The latch clicked.

"The party is a fortnight Friday," she said. "You'd better be there."

"I will be," he said, but the door was already closing.

Only once she was gone did he dare to wipe his eyes. Honestly, the amount of crying he'd been doing as of late was ridiculous. When did he become such a pathetic child?

He knew when: when he'd lost his other half, that was when. With him gone Akihiko couldn't even hold himself up. He was nothing without Misaki.

Raking a hand through his hair, Akihiko gazed around his apartment. It didn't just look messy; it looked dull, lifeless. Empty. A perfect reflection of its owner. Like a splash of water to a withered garden, Misaki had brought them both to life.

Akihiko squeezed his eyes shut, determined to keep any more tears from leaking out. Ever since he met the boy, he'd pictured his future to be a bright one, with Misaki always, always smiling by his side. Not this endless, lonely darkness, with nothing to look forward to but a miserable fake marriage to Sakae fucking Yamato.

Though he'd never spoken of this to anyone, Akihiko had actually spent many an hour dreaming of a wedding between himself and Misaki. The fact that it wasn't possible in their country hadn't bothered him; he had been certain that they would somehow, one day, find a way. He'd pictured waiting at the end of the aisle, butterflies tickling his stomach and an enormous grin breaking across his face as Misaki walked towards him, arm in arm with his brother. Hiroki would be beside him. Aikawa-san would be sniffling in the front row. His father and brother would be skulking near the back, scowling in defeat. Takahiro would look from his brother to his best friend with warm, joyful eyes as he placed Misaki's hands into Akihiko's.

Then, Akihiko would look into Misaki's amazing, emerald eyes. He would slip a ring onto his finger, and tell him how much he loved him, how happy he made him, and how he wanted to spend the rest of his days beside him. And for once, Misaki wouldn't look away; he would say those same things back to his rabbit as he placed a matching ring on his finger, and everyone would cheer as Misaki leapt into Akihiko's arms and kissed him for all he was worth…

But those dreams were shattered now. And Akihiko had nobody to blame but himself.

He fell over onto his side, pressing his face into the dusty couch cushions. What did it matter? Marriage was worthless if he couldn't share it with his true love, after all; his father could make him give Sakae a ring and sign a register with her, but it wouldn't mean a damn thing. Who cared?

Not Akihiko. He closed his suddenly heavy eyelids, releasing a long breath. If he couldn't have Misaki, he'd have anyone. He didn't care. He just didn't care anymore.

* * *

 **I'm sorry. I feel so mean doing this to our poor little bunny. :(**

 **Thank you all for reading, and please, please leave me some kind of comment. There's over two hundred people following this fic, so surely a few more of you can find the time to review? *Puppy dog eyes* I'm not asking for heaps of praise or super long comments or anything- It just really helps me out when people tell me their opinion so I can use it to strengthen my writing a bit... ^_^**

 **Right, I'll stop begging. Next chapter will be back in our dear little Misaki's POV, and it'll include his long-awaited reaction to the ending of Akihiko's book... :)**

 **Until next time! 3**


	38. Chapter 38

**Okay. I am really, really sorry it took me so long to update. There were two reasons, the first of which being that I've just had my first full week back at school and it's been a little difficult getting back into the swing of things. You know how it is. The second is that this update consists of three chapters that I wanted to post all at once, so it took me longer to get the whole thing finished. (Plus, they're important and I wanted to get them just right- I'd much rather give you guys a longer wait than a half-assed chapter)**

 **Again, I am very sorry about this. I know taking ages to post is, like, the most annoying thing an author can do. I will try not to make a habit of this, but please bear in mind that as I am in my final year of high school and preparing for university, I am going to be _extremely_ busy this year and won't have as much time to write. I will definitely keep working on this fic as often as I can, and to the best of my ability, but unfortunately updates may sometimes have to exceed the usual two-week wait. I hope you understand.**

 **Anyway. The good news is, you get a chapter for each week I made you wait. I hope you guys will enjoy them as I worked very hard on them. :)**

* * *

" _You won't forgive me?" he whispered. He sounded so loud in the middle of the silent room._

 _She shook her head. "No, I won't."_

" _Never?"_

" _Never, Yuu."_

His _body still lay between them, red-black blood beginning to congeal. Her brother's killer; Yuu's ally, former or not, it didn't matter. He helped him murder her Onii-chan, and no matter how he tried to atone, Hitomi couldn't forgive that._

 _Had she not once loved him, she would have probably killed him too._

 _Yuu stood in front of her, as still as a winter's day. The man lay at his feet. The pistol he'd used to finish the job hung limply from his hand, and Hitomi could see her own reflection in it, glittering coldly. Splashes of wine red stained his uniform and face; there were tear tracks streaking through it, ghostly pale scars along his cheeks._

" _I love you."_

 _It was a small, weak voice. Hitomi stared into his eyes, large and swimming with sorrow. He wasn't the same, stoic Officer Fujino that she had met at the police station; he was a broken man now. Pathetic, even._ She _had broken him._

 _And although she hated him, a tiny, wretched piece of Hitomi's heart still pitied him. She hated him, but she had also loved him, and she would never be able to forget that. She looked away._

I can't love him any longer. _Even if she didn't alert them herself, the authorities would discover Yuu's true identity- there was no hiding it, not after this case. He would be jailed for life, no question. Hitomi tried to tell herself that was good, he would be punished, he deserved it…_

" _I'm sorry, Hitomi."_

 _The concrete walls echoed with a_ click _. Then Hitomi looked up at Yuu, and the gun was against his temple and his finger was on the trigger and her heart lurched._

" _Yuu,_ NO! _"_

* * *

Misaki _heard_ the gunshot. He smelled the smoke, felt the hot, sticky spray of blood. His heart throbbed in his chest as she knelt on the concrete floor beside the two dead bodies, and he thought this couldn't be right, this couldn't possibly be the ending, and then a dark spot appeared on the final page, and he reached up and touched his face and realised he was crying. He blinked, speechless. A _book_ had made him cry.

His hands shook as he closed the cover. Dropping the book onto his bed, Misaki- leaning against the headboard- wiped his wet face on his sleeve as a long breath whistled from his lips.

 _It's just a story. Just a story_ …

He knew it was silly to get so emotional over a book. But, he simply couldn't get that last scene out of his mind. It had felt so haunting… So _real_ … Poor Yuu, crumpled in a pool of his own blood, the gun still smoking in his hand. Poor Hitomi, weeping over his body. Misaki had come to love and care for those characters so much- even if they weren't real- and _that_ was the ending they got?

"What the hell, Fujimoto?" he muttered, drying his eyes. He didn't know if he should feel disappointed; the ending had moved him deeply, there was no denying that, but it sort of seemed… was 'wasteful' the right word?

 _The author spends the whole book setting up for a happy ending, and then one guy blows his brains out and the other gets left alone? What the hell is the message there?_ Even more confusing to Misaki was the manner in which the author wrote about Hitomi; it was as if she could do no wrong. Even after she drove her partner to such a horrible fate, Fujimoto still wrote her like some sort of saint, completely absolved of any blame.

Frowning, he picked up the book again. Perhaps he was missing something- Misaki was always pretty dense when it came to this kind of thing, as his old literature professor had felt it necessary to remind him every single day.

Thinking of Kamijou-sensei, a beat of anger pulsed through Misaki without warning, and he forgot all about Hitomi and Yuu for a second. His fingers gripped the book harder.

"I can't believe I took all that verbal and physical abuse from the guy who pretended to be my brother and fucked his best friend," he mumbled bitterly into his knees. Had Misaki known about that while he was still in Kamijou's class, he might not have been so tolerant of all those condescending lectures and pieces of chalk to the head.

Still… at times, Misaki almost wished he'd never found about what Kamijou-sensei and his friend had done all those years ago. Then maybe he'd still be living happily with Usagi-san…

 _ **You've been thinking about him an awful lot lately, haven't you?**_

Misaki jolted upright- and hit his head against the bedframe. Cursing, he rubbed what was sure to be the beginnings of a bruise and scrabbled around for his phone.

 _Don't think about him, think about the book... Nii-chan!_ Takahiro had already finished it- he was sure to have an idea of what the ending was supposed to mean (For all his apparent obliviousness, the elder Takahashi had always, oddly, had a good eye for subtext when it came to literature). Misaki dialled his number.

He picked up almost immediately. Misaki's brother sounded delighted that he'd actually called to discuss a book- something that had never once happened before. After listening patiently to Misaki's ten-minute rant about the ending, Takahiro chuckled into the phone.

"Yeah, that really surprised me, too," he said. What he said next, however, surprised Misaki even more. "But even though it was sad, I think the author made a smart decision."

Misaki raised his eyebrows. "You do? Why?"

"Well, think about it- Yuu was living a life of lies." In an almost annoyingly erudite voice, Takahiro proceeded to explain, "If he'd gotten Hitomi back, they might have lived happily ever after, but it would have been a life of deceit. That wouldn't make a very healthy moral for the story."

Not for the first time, Misaki found himself feeling slightly guilty that it had been him who had the opportunity to take Mitsuhashi's literature course; his brother would easily have fared much better than him. Even so, he found himself disagreeing with Takahiro's analysis.

"Yeah, but he told the truth in the end," he pointed out. "Hitomi could have just forgiven him, but she wouldn't. She let him _die_ , even after he helped her. That doesn't seem like a very good moral, either."

On the other end of the line, Takahiro hummed into the receiver. "Well, Yuu _did_ help someone murder her brother," he said. "I don't think anyone could forgive that."

That, Misaki had to admit, was true- He could certainly never forgive anyone for harming _his_ Nii-chan. But for some reason, when it came to this book in particular, Misaki couldn't help but feel like there was something more to it…

Sighing, he lay back on his pillows, tucking his free arm behind his head. _Blood and Cherry Blossoms_ lay just beside him, and he eyed the picture of the blood-splattered gun on the cover.

"I just don't see the point," he said eventually. He shook his head. "All that build up for such a gloomy ending… It's like saying, 'Just give up. Nothing ever gets better, so there's no point'."

"I think it's just a life lesson," said his brother matter-of-factly. "Not everybody gets a happy ending, after all."

Misaki frowned. "That's a pretty bleak life lesson…"

"Maybe the author has a pretty bleak life."

"Hmm…" Reaching out, Misaki took the book and held it above his face. His eyes wandered to the bottom of the cover, where the name 'Kareha Fujimoto' was printed in plain, black letters. It looked rather dull compared to the dramatic cover. Misaki thought the author, whoever they were, would have to be living a really, really dull life, if the defeatist attitude that came through in their writing was anything to go by.

"I don't know…" he mumbled. "I still don't think Yuu deserved to die…"

"Wasn't it inevitable, though?"

"Inevitable?" Misaki repeated.

"Yeah," said his brother. On the other end of the line, Misaki could hear paper rustling; Takahiro was probably flipping through his own copy, looking for backup points. He loved holding debates about his favourite books.

"I think what Fujimoto-sensei is trying to say," he said, sounding as though he were writing a high school essay, "is that, even though you may think you can run from your mistakes, they will always catch up to you. The author probably killed Yuu to reinforce that- as punishment for lying to Hitomi.

"It may not be what he deserved, but Hitomi turning against Yuu was his own fault…"

"But he _loved_ her!" Misaki blurted, sitting upright suddenly. He slapped the book down on his futon, not stopping to wonder why Takahiro's words had angered him so. All he could think about was Yuu's dead body, and how much he'd hated Hitomi as she cried over him. "Sure, he did some bad things, but that was all in the past. He made up for it! He became a better person!"

His fingers twisted in the bed sheets, and his voice grew louder without his even realising it. "Hitomi could have given him the second chance he deserved, but she turned her back on him!"

 _ **Sound familiar, Misaki?**_

A huge, invisible fist drove itself right into Misaki's gut.

"Misaki…" Takahiro laughed nervously, though his brother didn't hear him. "Calm down. It's just a fictional story."

Green eyes were glued to the wall.

 _I… I…_

"Misaki? Are you still there?"

"Um." Blinking, he re-tightened his grip on the cell phone. It was slipping between his slack fingers. Trying to ignore the sticky sensation blooming in his stomach, he answered shakily, "Y-yeah. Sorry, Nii-chan. I got a little, um, carried away."

If his brother could hear how small and weak his voice had become, he didn't show it.

"That's okay- It's nice to hear you get excited about something besides that cooking manga," he teased. Not noticing the lack of response this received, he added, "Speaking of _The Kan_ , shouldn't you be getting ready?"

"Getting ready? Oh," said Misaki. He'd forgotten all about tonight. That book had sapped all of his excitement. "Right. I suppose I should."

From Takahiro's end of the line came a giddy giggle. "I can't believe my little brother is going to a big movie premier full of famous celebrities! Take lots of pictures, will you? Oh, and wave to the cameras! Me, Mahiro and Manami are gonna be looking out for you on the TV!"

"I'll do my best," Misaki murmured. He was barely listening to his brother. All he really knew was that he wanted to get _off_ the phone and be alone. "Well, I guess I should go get ready, then…"

"Wait, Misaki." Takahiro's voice stopped him moving the phone away from his ear. "Are you okay? You sound kinda distracted."

For a moment, there was no answer. Misaki hesitated. Takahiro waited.

"Just a little nervous about the premier," he said. He took the phone off his ear. "Bye, Nii-chan."

"Goodb-"

 _Beep._

Dropping the phone like a hot coal, Misaki scooted back against the headboard, drew in his knees and rested his head on his folded arms. His shoulders rose and fell. The pit of his stomach still felt sticky, like tar.

It was like passing someone on the street with a really stupid haircut and laughing at them, only to catch sight of your reflection in a shop window and realise your own hair looks exactly the same. The more Misaki replayed his and Takahiro's conversation- the speech he himself made about the book- the blacker and stickier his insides felt. His own voice echoed inside his head.

 _She could have given him the second chance he deserved!_

Misaki's fingers gripped his jeans at the knees.

 _She turned her back on him!_

Tighter.

 _She turned her back on him…_

So tight the fabric was tearing.

 _You turned your back on him._

Slowly, he lifted his head. Misaki's eyes were reluctant as they crept towards the cover of that infernal book once more. He took in the red splatters; they used to remind him of blood, but now when he saw them, the photograph of that woman he'd found on Usagi-san's desk came to mind. Then he looked down at his own hands.

"Am I… just like Hitomi?"

Had Usagi-san deserved a second chance, too? Did Misaki walk away from him like an independent, autonomous young man- or did he coldly turn his back on someone who needed him, like Hitomi?

Was it his fault Usagi-san might have to marry that woman?

 _No. No, I'm being ridiculous,_ he said to himself. _This is real life, not a fictional story._

It was like Takahiro said: in real life, not everybody gets a happy ending. In real life, not every relationship works out. It wasn't wrong of Misaki to leave Usagi-san; why should he have stayed with a man who didn't love him? Sure, he _said_ he loved him, but Misaki…

Had Misaki believed him?

He kept telling himself that he didn't. That was why he and Usagi-san weren't together anymore. He didn't believe him, because he'd fucked around with Kamijou and kissed Misaki's brother (well, almost kissed). That was why he didn't believe him.

But… Yuu _killed_ Hitomi's brother. And yet, when he told Hitomi he loved her, Misaki had believed him…

Why?

His fingernails had all but torn through his denim jeans by now, cutting into his flesh. The black, sticky pit widened, and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

 _For God's sake, Misaki, you're overcomplicating everything! There's a difference between suspense novel drama and real life drama! A huge difference!_

… Yes, that was right. This was different. He was _not_ like Hitomi.

* * *

It was getting late and Todo was supposed to be arriving soon, so Misaki forced himself to start getting ready. Waiting in his room was his best black suit, carefully preserved on a hanger on the back of Misaki's door. As he took it down a voice in his head said _**Usagi-san bought you this**_ , but he pushed it away and changed as quickly as he could.

When he was done he went into his dingy bathroom, wrapping his silk tie around his neck; he still couldn't properly tie one without a mirror. He ignored the memories of Usagi-san's hands there, doing it for him, as he carefully went through the whole around-under-and-over routine like he had countless times before. It was still crooked when he pulled it into a knot, but it always was when he was doing it by himself. He brushed his teeth and combed his hair, all the while staring at his own, troubled reflection.

To Misaki's irritation, the mark on his cheek still hadn't faded; rather, it had turned a rather sickly shade of greenish-brown. Scowling at it, Misaki picked up his stubby stick of concealer and began to dab it gently over the bruise. He had to lean in close until his nose was almost touching the mirror, it was so scratched and cloudy.

Identical, green eyes stared into one another as he covered up the blemish. Coincidentally enough, the character in the book had had green eyes, too. And short, dark hair like his. As close to his reflection as he was, Misaki could almost imagine he was looking at Hitomi Natsuko's face and not his own.

He put down the concealer stick without drawing back from the mirror. He studied his own face thoughtfully. _We really do look similar… At least, according to the writing._

If it was true, if he was Hitomi and she was him, then Misaki with his combed hair and immaculate suit and flawless face was Hitomi as the author saw her: Perfect. Innocent. The victim of Yuu's wicked lies. His reflection was the Hitomi Misaki saw. The marred mirror made his face- their face- scarred and grey. A flawed, twisted character. The villain. This Hitomi was hidden by Fujimoto's angelic depiction, like Misaki's ugly bruise behind the make-up.

Two Hitomis. The poor, tragic girl, fooled into loving one who would use and abuse her, and the cold-hearted traitor, refusing to offer a hand to a lover in need. The victim and the villain. But which one was Misaki?

Was he in front of the glass, or behind it?

He'd been staring at his own reflection for so long it was beginning to distort. When the doorbell suddenly rang, therefore, Misaki jumped, hitting his forehead on the glass with a loud _clank_.

"Just a minute, Todo!" he called, silently cursing. One hand rubbed his forehead whilst the other hastily dusted off his suit. The tie was still crooked. Before Misaki hurried out of the bathroom, he took one last glance in the mirror to check, but from where he was standing he could barely even make himself out in the dusty old glass. He was faded and blurred; a faceless ghost of a boy.

* * *

 **By the way... Does _anyone_ know when JR chapter 86 is supposed to come out? I thought it was on September 1st, but it seems I was misinformed :( I've been waiting so long...**

 **Anyway, thank you for reading! ^^**


	39. Chapter 39

"Takahashi, we're here!"

Watching the darkened city streets pass by through the cab window, Misaki turned his head. "Hm?"

Todo was facing away from him, his hands and nose pressed up against the opposite window. Misaki heard him let out a hushed gasp.

"Look at the movie theatre!" he said. "I barely recognise it…"

The cab came to a halt. While Todo paid the driver, Misaki shakily unfastened his seatbelt, wiping his hands on the upholstery. He wasn't sure whether his sweaty palms were due to excitement or nerves.

 _What's to be nervous about? It's just like going to the movies. Sort of._

If he was honest with himself, however, Misaki knew it wasn't the prospect of the premier that unsettled him; it was his artist. He and Ijuuin hadn't spoken since that rather tense interaction in the coffee room, and after his parting words, Misaki didn't know how they were going to face each other again without it being uncomfortable. He'd just have to hope the movie would distract them from feeling awkward.

 _He was just so weird last time… And the way he kept touching me…_

As soon as they were out, the car drove off, clearing Misaki's view of across the street. His jaw dropped along with Todo's.

"Woah…"

One of the biggest in Tokyo, the movie theatre was lit with so many coloured lights that a rainbow-like glare surrounded it for at least a foot, smudging out the summer stars. The red carpet running up to the entrance was wide enough for ten people to walk it abreast, flanked on either side by an enormous mass of spectators. Even all the way across the busy main road, Misaki could hear them, all babbling excitedly and screaming at the celebrities who kept climbing out of shining mercs or limos.

"There must be hundreds of people…" said Todo, shading his eyes as he scanned the massive crowd. Misaki murmured in agreement; butterflies were swarming his stomach.

His friend grinned at him. "What are we waiting for?"

All Misaki could manage was a weak smile.

They crossed the street. With every step, the crowd's cacophony grew in volume, until Misaki could barely hear himself think. His ears weren't the only sensory organs getting assaulted; as if the lights weren't blinding enough, there were cameras flashing every two seconds. Not little digital cameras, but huge, hulking things on tripods, emitting louds clicks and magnesium-like bursts of light. Whenever Misaki blinked, he saw neon shadows.

"How do we get in?" he asked Todo once they'd reached the outskirts of the gathering. He had to yell over the noise. As well as the fans, there were also a number of news reporters talking into big, fluffy microphones. Misaki could only catch snatches of conversation.

"I'm here at the long-anticipated premier of _The Kan: The movie_ , an adaptation of Kyo Ijuuin's hit manga…"

"Do you think Ijuuin-sensei will be here soon? I hope he signs my autograph book!"

"… and here comes the director now, wearing a stunning…"

"Oh my God! Isn't that Ageha Sasori, the singer?"

"Didn't you know? She recorded the movie's opening song!"

Beside Misaki, the taller man peered over the sea of heads. "The guest entrance is over there, I think," he said, pointing to a long line of people behind a rope barrier; they were shuffling towards a small door beside the main entrance. There were about eighty squealing otakus blocking the way.

The two friends looked at each other, and Todo shrugged. "Looks like the only way is through."

Misaki gulped, smoothing down his black suit. Crowds didn't usually make him nervous, but this was a _lot_ of people, and when he and Todo found an opening and squeezed into the crush, he was overcome with a sudden sense of claustrophobia. Bodies were packing in around him on all sides, and he could hardly breathe. He grit his teeth against the unbearable din as they inched their way through, sticking close to Todo.

"Whew," said his friend when they came out the other side. His over-large suit was rumpled, but he was still smiling toothily. "This is exciting, huh?"

"Mm," said Misaki. In truth, he was starting to feel rather queasy. He wasn't sure why he wasn't excited like he thought he'd be. Maybe the noise was giving him a headache, or maybe the heat from all the hundreds of bodies had made him a little feverish, or maybe-

 _ **The book.**_

 _No! Shut up._

Shaking his head, he went with Todo to stand in the guest line, where they had a fifteen-minute wait until a scary security guard examined their tickets and checked their bags before letting them in. Misaki could have sworn his legs were trembling by the time they walked through the door.

They foyer was just as packed as outside; lots of men in sleek suits and women in sexy dresses and makeup. Everyone seemed to be at least a head taller than Misaki, who, once inside, felt oddly compelled to flatten himself against the wall. Was his heart supposed to be beating so fast? He tried taking several deep breaths, but no matter how hard he tried, it seemed like he simply couldn't draw in enough air.

 _What's the matter with you? You should be excited!_

"Hey, Takahashi, I think I see your boss. He's the tall guy with all the curly hair, right?"

Why was the room so warm? Misaki went to loosen his tie, but then stopped because it would look too informal. He was starting to sweat.

"You okay, Takahashi?" Todo's voice sounded strangely far away. "You look kind of pale."

"I…" Not enough air, never, never enough…

"Woah, Takahashi!"

Misaki didn't hear him. The babble of voices around him grew louder into a roar, and everything started spinning, faster and faster, a blur, and then everything was suddenly very quiet and very dark.

* * *

"Misaki? Misaki, can you hear me?"

Misaki groaned as his eyelids fluttered open. The first thing he noticed was that he could smell the carpet: dust and dirt, shot through with the sweet taint of chewing gum. His vision was swimmy for a few seconds, but then a pair of worried, blue eyes came into focus.

"Mm… Ijuuin-sensei?" he mumbled. It was chilly; sweat had cooled on his skin. Returning to his senses more fully, Misaki saw more faces surrounding him. Todo was there, along with Kirishima-san, Yokozawa-san and a little girl Misaki didn't recognise, all sharing a similar look of concern.

"Are you okay?" Todo asked.

Realising what had happened, Misaki felt his cheeks colour. He actually _fainted_... He couldn't believe it. "Um, yeah… Fine," he said, and pushed himself up with wobbly arms.

Someone yelled 'He's good!', and the small gathering above Misaki breathed a collective sigh of relief. Ijuuin smiled, and only then did Misaki realise that the mangaka's arms were underneath him, one supporting his neck and the other his lower back. His face grew a little hotter.

"Thank God for that," said Ijuuin, handing Misaki his suit jacket, which had been removed. "You frightened me there, Misaki."

"I'm sorry…" Daring to raise his eyes, Misaki saw that there were still a whole bunch of other guests milling around in the foyer, staring. Quickly, he ducked his head again, wishing he were still unconscious.

"What happened, Takahashi?" asked Todo as he and Ijuuin helped Misaki up. "One minute you were on your feet, and the next you were down on the floor."

Kirishima-san answered for him. He looked unaffected as usual, hands resting in the pockets of his tuxedo.

"I think he was just a little overwhelmed by all the excitement," he said. "Is that right, Takahashi-kun?"

Misaki nodded, dusting off his trousers. "Y-yeah, probably…"

Truthfully, he had no idea why he'd fainted; it had never happened before as far as Misaki could recall, and he was used to busy places and bustling crowds every day. He felt so stupid.

He was standing upright now, though Ijuuin still hadn't let go of him. A small frown had appeared on his face, and he pushed Misaki's bangs away from his face, examining it.

"You still look a little under the weather," he told him. "Perhaps we should call someone to drive you home?"

"Ah, no!" said Misaki quickly. His cheeks were still burning, but he looked Ijuuin in the eyes. "I'm fine, sensei, really. I want to see the movie."

Whatever the reason for this, he was not missing the premier because of it.

The mangaka exchanged a look with his main editor; they looked doubtful, but relented. "If you say so, Takahashi-kun."

Just then, someone cleared their throat: a bearded man in a polo shirt standing a few feet off to the side. A large camera stood beside him, and he jerked his thumb at it. "Uh, sorry to interrupt, Ijuuin-sensei, but could we please have a couple of photos now?"

Mortified as he realised everyone had been held up because of him, Misaki wondered how long he'd been passed out for. He hoped it was only a few minutes. Ijuuin answered the cameraman's question with a calm smile.

"I think we've kept everyone waiting long enough, don't you?"

Catching the subtle hint in his voice, those still watching began to trickle out of the foyer and into the movie theatre. Kirishima-san followed, and so did Yokozawa, lifting the little girl into his arms. Large, golden brown eyes peeked over the sales manager's shoulder curiously.

Misaki might have wondered who the child was and why it was Yokozawa-san, of all people, who was holding her, had he not been wishing for the foyer floor to open up and swallow him whole. Though he knew it probably wasn't the case, he felt like everybody was looking at him; he could _feel_ everyone's eyes on him. He kept his head down as they all shuffled into the huge theatre and towards their allocated seats, guided by Ijuuin's hand on his back.

"God, how embarrassing…" he said as he sank into a plush, crimson seat near the back. There was a little 'reserved' card sitting there with his name on it; the one on the chair beside him said 'Kyo Ijuuin'. He wondered if his sensei had arranged that on purpose. It wouldn't surprise him.

Taking a seat next to Misaki, Ijuuin reached out and patted the boy's leg. "Don't be embarrassed," he said. "It wasn't your fault."

The theatre was cavernous, with at least two hundred chairs and a stage in front of the gigantic screen. Todo was freaking out over the complimentary snacks and _The Kan_ plushies that had been left on every seat, but Misaki barely noticed. "But I caused everyone so much bother…" he muttered.

"Nonsense," Ijuuin said. In the dark of the theatre, Misaki saw that row of perfect white teeth glinting at him. "You saved me having to pose for even more pictures."

Misaki tried to laugh, though he honestly didn't feel like it. Ijuuin must have sensed that it wasn't genuine, because when he spoke again he sounded worried.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright now?"

"Yes," replied Misaki instantly. "Absolutely."

"Well, if you need to go outside, just let me know."

"Okay."

The mangaka looked like he was going to say more, but at that moment the lights above them dimmed, and the whispering audience became hushed for a split second before breaking into applause as the director and main cast walked onto the stage. Misaki and Ijuuin clapped with them, settling into silence.

 _Ijuuin-sensei is so nice_ , thought Misaki as the actors began introducing the movie. He was a good friend. He was always looking out for Misaki. That must have been why he seemed so concerned about him when he fainted. It must have also been why his hand was still resting on Misaki's thigh and didn't leave it until after the movie was over.

* * *

The premier was great. It was everything Misaki imagined it would be. A die-hard _The Kan_ fan's dream. So it seemed a little strange to him that Misaki came out of that movie theatre feeling like a teenager on Christmas morning; not disappointed, but significantly less ecstatic than he should have been considering all the build-up. Anticlimactic.

 _Why am I feeling so funny today?_ he wondered, wishing he could shake off this mopiness and share Todo's excitement with him. His friend was prancing out of the theatre ahead of the group, oblivious to the disapproving stares of the more upper-class guests.

"That was such an amazing movie!" he trilled, and spun around into a low bow in front of Misaki's boss. "Thank you so much for the tickets, Kirishima-san!"

"Yeah, thanks, Kirishima-san," echoed Misaki, bowing as well. He couldn't forget his manners because of his weird mood.

The chief editor just smiled good-naturedly. "No problem. Hey, Kyo, I overheard a couple of critics talking on the way out," he added, giving his artist a wink. "I've got a feeling this movie's gonna be getting more than a few five-star reviews."

Ijuuin, who was walking behind next to Yokozawa-san, let out a half-serious groan.

"Doesn't that just mean more interviews and more paparazzi spying on me?"

They were back in the foyer now, and even as the mangaka spoke there were heads turning in his direction, people pointing and taking out their cell phones for a quick snapshot. Kirishima-san laughed.

"Yes, but it also means an invite to Isaka-san's big party for us both. You too, Takahashi," he said, clapping Misaki on the shoulder. He tried to hide his blanching at the thought; he'd barely been able to cope with all the buzz and glamour of the premier, after all, and this was diddly-squat compared to one of Marukawa's enormous extravaganzas.

The little girl- Hiyori, Misaki had learned her name was- had been clinging to Yokozawa-san's hand, gazing about her in a curious but apprehensive sort of way, but at Kirishima-san's words, her eyes lit up and she clapped her hands giddily.

"Ooh, a party!" she said, ponytail bouncing as she jumped up and down. "Will I get to go, too, Papa?"

So, she was Kirishima-san's daughter. That explained why Yokozawa-san was practically her mom.

"Sorry, sweetie," the chief editor said. He patted Hiyori on the head. "This is a grown-ups only party."

Only now did Misaki notice how alike they looked. She pouted. "But I _like_ parties! There's lots of food and pretty dresses like today!"

As they neared the main entrance (a pair of enormous glass doors standing wide open), Misaki saw a cluster of cameramen and women lurking around outside, perking up when they saw Ijuuin. The mangaka noticed them, too; blue eyes flickered towards them for a split second before he broke into his usual, amiable smile, and stooped to lift up Hiyori.

"Ah, but I think your dress is by far the prettiest here, Hiyo-chan," he said as they exited. Immediately, the cameras started flashing. Hiyori blinked in bewilderment, but offered the mangaka holding her a shy giggle.

"Thanks, Ijuuin-san," she chirped, and smoothed out her pale blue dress. Looking over Ijuuin's shoulder, she gave the sales manager a huge smile. "Yokozawa-oniisan bought it for me."

"Is that so?"

Yokozawa, who'd already looked a little annoyed when Hiyori was plucked from his grasp, blushed at the statement (indeed, Misaki had to stifle a laugh when he imagined Marukawa's own Wild Bear perusing the children's dresses department). The furrows in his brow deepened as more cameras clicked; Lingering by the railings were a few faithful fangirls, and they were snapping photos of Ijuuin and Hiyori as they walked along the empty red carpet, staring adoringly.

"Look! It's Ijuuin-sensei!"

"Aww, he's carrying a little girl, that's so _cute_!"

"That's not his daughter, is it?"

Huffing, Yokozawa all but snatched the youngster out of Ijuuin's arms. "Come on, Hiyori. Kirishima, the car's waiting," he growled.

"Alright, alright," said the chief editor. He allowed his grumpy partner to walk ahead of him before following, rolling his eyes at the others as he did so. "See you guys later!"

With that, the mismatched little trio disappeared, leaving Misaki, Todo and Ijuuin alone on the carpet, scuffed now and covered in shoe prints. As the two boys returned Hiyori's farewell wave, Ijuuin nudged his sub-editor's shoulder.

"How are you feeling, Misaki? Any better?"

Hastily, Misaki plastered on a reassuring smile. "Oh yeah, much."

"Sure?" A large hand was suddenly against Misaki's forehead, and Ijuuin frowned. "You're still a little warm…"

Misaki squirmed. He knew there was no need to be flustered by such an innocuous touch, but he couldn't help it; it was Ijuuin-sensei.

He ducked away from his hand. "Really, sensei, I'm fine! Thanks for worrying, though." Before he could say any more, Misaki turned to his friend. "Hey, Todo, shouldn't we call a cab?"

Todo had been watching his idol's and best friend's rapport with a kind of envious admiration, but at Misaki's question his expression shifted to one of embarrassment, and he scratched the back of his head. "Oh yeah, about that. I'm, uh, a little low on funds at the moment…"

Having forgotten all about Todo's financial situation (he was struggling to pay for his police academy tuition- unlike Misaki's cushy deal at Marukawa), Misaki had split the cab driver's fee with his friend earlier that evening, and now he felt awful for it. Just as he was about to offer to pay for the journey back, however, a smooth voice answered Todo for him.

"I'll pay for you to get home, Shinosuke-kun," Ijuuin said. He flashed his teeth, making Todo turn bright red and stutter, and then addressed Misaki once again. "But I think you should probably crash at my place tonight."

"Huh?" Misaki's eyes widened. "How come?"

He was vaguely aware of the nearby fangirls, pointing and whispering as he and Ijuuin conversed- but he tried to ignore them. Ijuuin explained, "I don't want you all alone if you pass out again, that's all. Besides, it would be nice to celebrate together, don't you think?

"Don't worry, there's plenty of room for you," he added, and for some reason the smile he gave Misaki looked more like a smirk. He fumbled for a response.

"W-well, uh…"

"Ijuuin-sensei?"

The new voice came from a young-ish woman with a reporter's mic. She was trotting as fast as she could towards them in her tall heels, looking very rosy and out-of-breath. Her eyes darted from Misaki to Todo and back to the famed mangaka again.

"Sorry, do you have time to answer a few questions for us? Just a few!"

On the word 'us', she gestured to yet another camera crew, standing before a large news van that seemed to have materialised at the end of the carpet. Ijuuin didn't look too enthusiastic, but he managed to muster up a pleasant smile and nodded nonetheless.

"I'll be right there," he said. Before following her, he gave Misaki's shoulder a brief pat.

"Wait for me here. I'll call my chauffeur."

They walked away, but not before the reporter woman had given Misaki a curious once-over. From the boys' right came a high-pitched squeal.

"He _touched_ you!" One of the fans, a girl in thick-rimmed glasses and pigtails, stared at Misaki with large, sparkling eyes. "Lucky!"

Misaki smiled uneasily. Though the night air was chilly, he felt strangely warm despite his thin shirt and suit jacket. _Sensei was right,_ he thought. _I hope I don't have a fever or something…_

Beside him, Todo laughed, breaking Misaki out of his thoughts by digging him playfully in the ribs. "Get you, mister fancy-pants. All these parties and premiers, _and_ you're besties with a famous mangaka!"

Wow, his face was hot… Feeling increasingly, inexplicably uncomfortable, Misaki waved his hands. "Oh, sensei and I definitely aren't besties or anything. He's just… a very friendly guy."

 _A_ very _friendly guy._

"Yeah…" said Todo slowly. He hesitated a moment, pursing his lips in thought. "He's kind of… handsy with you, isn't he?"

Misaki swallowed. "You think?"

"Seems like it to me." Shrugging, Todo grinned. "Maybe I'm just jealous."

The laugh that escaped Misaki was a feeble one. He knew exactly what Todo was talking about; sometimes, when he was with Ijuuin, it felt like those hands were always _somewhere_ \- But it was okay. There was nothing wrong with friendly contact. Nothing at all…

As if in disagreement, Misaki's stomach muscles clenched. They contracted even further when- as he practically knew it would- one of those hands landed heavily again on his shoulder.

"Ready to go?"

Ijuuin's smile was warm and sweet as honey, and Misaki mirrored it as best he could. "Sure."

As he was steered towards the expensive, gleaming black car, he was certain he heard whispering behind them, and more cameras click, click, clicking.


	40. Chapter 40

**I'm looking forward to seeing how people react to this one... Please tell me your opinions in the reviews! :D I love chatting to you guys, even if you find my sometimes rather lengthy responses annoying ^^;**

* * *

The ride back was uneventful. Ijuuin kept his arm draped over the back of the seat, so that Misaki was underneath it. When they reached his apartment's front door, he guided Misaki inside by the elbow.

The house was cleaner than it had been last time Misaki saw it, though there were still a few _The Kan_ roughs lying around. There was a gap in the drawn curtains, letting in a chink of midnight moonlight. Misaki glanced around as Ijuuin flicked on the lights, nervously slipping out of his shiny dress shoes. He didn't know why he felt so awkward. Desperate for some topic of conversation, he said the first thing he could think of.

"I didn't know Kirishima-san had a daughter."

Removing his own shoes, Ijuuin raised his eyebrows. "He's never mentioned Hiyo? She's the apple of his eye."

"Yokozawa-san's too, from the looks of it."

The memory of him holding the little girl so tenderly was still strange to Misaki; Yokozawa was the last person he'd expect to be good with kids. People weren't always what they seemed, he supposed.

Ijuuin chuckled. "They're an odd couple, aren't they?"

He stepped out of the entryway, and Misaki followed. "Mm. I think they suit each other, though," he offered.

"Well, opposites attract, as they say." Noticing that Misaki was still standing in the middle of the room, Ijuuin waved a hand towards the couch. "Have a seat."

Gingerly, Misaki complied. "Are you sure it's okay for me to crash here?" he asked, twiddling his thumbs in his lap. He was sitting like a schoolboy, knees together and back straight. Misaki wasn't sure why; he'd sat on that couch so many times, he knew the pattern of the fabric, the cushions… "I don't want to get in your way, sensei…"

Ijuuin tilted his head. He was wearing a form-fitting black suit with a red tie and white shirt, which stretched across his broad chest as he folded his arms. "You worry far too much about causing people trouble, you know that?"

Hearing that, Misaki flushed anew.

"Everyone says that." The phrase was like a broken record to Misaki by now. The mangaka seemed to be waiting for an explanation of some sort, but the last thing Misaki wanted to do at that particular moment was talk about his parents. He coughed. "It's just a… habit of mine, I guess."

From the looks of him, Ijuuin wasn't completely satisfied with this, but he didn't press for details; instead, he walked over and gave his editor's combed, dark hair a quick ruffle, restoring it to its usual haphazard state.

"Well, you'll never be a bother to me."

Misaki mumbled a response, looking away. His scalp burned strangely; so did his elbow, his thigh, everywhere Ijuuin's hands had been…

"Misaki, you look really hot." His voice held only concern, but Misaki was hard pressed not to shrink away anyway as Ijuuin drew near, close enough that he could smell his expensive cologne. "Let me take that off you…"

His fingers brushed Misaki's sides as he removed the editor's suit jacket, making them tingle. Misaki tried to relax his stiff muscles, but found he couldn't as fingertips grazed over his cheek; they practically sizzled, his temperature was so high. "You're not going to faint again, are you?"

 _He's not doing anything weird, it's fine…_ Coughing, Misaki shook his head, removing those fingers as well as Ijuuin's worries.

"I'm okay. Just a little feverish, I think."

The mangaka eyed him for a second, but then- to Misaki's relief- he stood back, turning in the direction of the kitchen.

"You need a drink." Disappearing through the door, Ijuuin called back to Misaki, "I don't have champagne or wine or anything, but is beer okay?"

"Yes, please," replied Misaki without hesitation. If anything could settle his nerves right now, it was alcohol.

 _Not that I should have any reason to be nervous, anyway…_ Another sigh escaped him. He was probably only thinking this way because he knew Ijuuin liked him. It was stupid. There was no need to over-analyse every pat and hug the man gave him, now, was there?

He heard the fridge door open. Bottles and tins clinked. Ijuuin asked, "So, what did you think of the movie?"

"It was great," said Misaki. For all his _The Kan_ enthusiasm, he literally could not think of another thing to say. He scratched his nose. "What did you think, sensei?"

"The director really is incredible." Ijuuin sounded extremely pleased as he returned with a six-pack, grinning down at Misaki. "Isaka-san's party, here we come."

He broke off a can and passed it to his editor. Misaki took it without haste, prising it open and watching the mist dissolve with a _hiss_. "Can't wait."

"Me either." Setting the remaining five cans on the coffee table, Ijuuin sat down beside Misaki without taking one for himself. "Hey, maybe you'll get to meet Fujimoto-sensei."

And the black sticky pit yawned open again, and Misaki's fingers tightened around the ice-cold beer can. _That stupid book…_

He took a large swig instead of answering. Ijuuin was pulling off his tie, dropping it over the back of the couch along with his jacket.

"Speaking of, how did you find that book?" he asked. "You must have finished it by now."

"Yeah, I did. It was…" Already halfway through the can, Misaki trailed off as he caught sight of the brand. He almost snorted at it. _Usagi Beer_. Of course.

"It was what?"

Glancing at him, Misaki took another few gulps of beer. It was cheap and bitter, but he didn't care. He wiped his mouth.

"It was really good," he said finally. "But, it was also kind of depressing."

'Kind of' was an understatement, he thought. Ijuuin cocked his head.

"Is that the reason you were so out of it at the theatre?"

Though he couldn't possibly be drunk already, a too-high yelp of a laugh tore from Misaki's lips. "No, of course not," he said, and made a face. "I mean, it's just a book, right?"

Just a book. Just a silly old book that Misaki was spending way too much time thinking about.

For a moment or two, Ijuuin didn't answer; he just regarded Misaki silently in that weird way of his, just long enough to make the editor want to squirm. But then, he shrugged.

"If you say so." With a glimmer in his eye, he picked up a can and tapped it against Misaki's near-empty one. "Cheers."

* * *

The square clock read quarter to one. There were three empty cans on the coffee table, all of them Misaki's. A fourth was clutched loosely in his hand, and he downed the remnants before letting it clatter on top of the pile. His head was feeling pleasantly woozy.

A pair of blue eyes followed him as he swayed back and forth. Prying the final can from the pack, Ijuuin offered it to his editor. "Want another?"

It was a second or two before the can came into focus. Misaki stared doubtfully at it. "I… I pro'lly shouldn't…"

"Go on," said Ijuuin. His feet were up on the coffee table. "We're celebrating, aren't we?"

"But, you've hardly had any," Misaki pointed out, nodding at the mangaka's single beer can; it was all but untouched.

"I'm not too thirsty." Like a hypnotist with a watch, Ijuuin dangled the tin can in front of Misaki's bleary eyes. "Here- one more won't hurt you."

What the hell. It wasn't like Misaki had any reason not to. "'M'kay…"

He had to grope around a bit for the can; his hand-eye coordination was starting to lag. When he finally had a hold of it, he caught sight of the blurry but still distinguishable rabbit emblazoned on its side. His eyes misted behind drooping lids, and he popped the can open.

 _Gotta drink… Gotta forget…_

Ijuuin watched him slowly chugging the beer with one hand covering his chin. His smile had gone. "You seem awfully glum today, Misaki."

The can lowered, and he blinked. "Do I?" _Damn it_. Ijuuin-sensei just wanted to celebrate the movie release with him, and he was ruining it by being all mopey and sad! _Bad Misaki. Bad, selfish Misaki._

"'M sorry, sensei," he slurred apologetically. "I don' mean to be rude…"

He wobbled a little as he said this, and some beer sloshed out of the can and onto the couch. Too tipsy to think to apologise, Misaki watched it seep into the blue cushions with a frown. Ijuuin didn't get annoyed; instead, he gently took the can from Misaki's hand and set it on the table.

"You're not, but I'm worried about you," he said. The corner of his mouth quirked up in an attempt at humour. "Is it that book? Was the ending really that sad?"

While Misaki was pretty sure that was a joke, his sleepy face remained serious. He thought back to the book's final chapter. "I… I guess so, yeah."

"Really?"

"Well…" Smoking gun, dead Yuu, blood everywhere, crying Hitomi… His eyebrows knitted together. "It made me think about… stuff," he said. "That's why it made me sad. I guess."

Beside him, Ijuuin's face was slipping in and out of focus like a crappy cell phone video, but when it was clear it looked confused.

"When you say it made you think about stuff," he said, "what do you mean?"

"It… It made me think of…" Where was his beer…? There, in front of him- Usagi beer. Rabbit on the front. His shoulders slumped. "It made me think of… Usagi-san."

Just saying his name made Misaki feel weak, like his resolve had crumbled. He wasn't supposed to be thinking about Usagi-san. Stupid Usagi… Always hopping into Misaki's head without permission.

Ijuuin didn't answer, and Misaki thought maybe his sensei didn't hear him. But when his vision sharpened from blurry to almost-clear, he saw the mangaka looking right at him.

"What about him?"

Did his voice just get lower? Picking up the beer again, Misaki let his shoulders rise and fall.

"I dunno." Glug, glug. "The main character jus' kinda reminded me of him."

Such yucky-tasting beer, but Misaki couldn't stop drinking it. As he finished off the can, the man next to him stayed very still. When he spoke his voice was flat like a machine's.

"I see."

One final gulp, and the can was empty. Misaki dropped it clumsily onto the coffee table and fell backwards, sinking into the couch. The impact forced an annoyed grunt out of him. It wasn't enough; his mind was too clear and the memory of that stupid ending to that stupid book was still there. It resurfacing no matter what other things Misaki tried to think of to keep it at bay. He kept getting it muddled up, melding with other memories, whether they were real or just figments of his intoxicated imagination.

Crying Hitomi. Crying Misaki. Crying Usagi-san. Usagi-san on the floor in his office. Dead Yuu, smoking gun. Dead Usagi-san, covered in red. Red on Misaki's hand, gun in his palm. Crying Misaki. Crying Usagi-san.

"When we broke up…"

Ijuuin lifted his head. "Hm?"

Misaki wasn't looking at him; he was staring intently at nothing, his brow creased. "D'you think I was too mean to him?"

The cushions shifted as Ijuuin turned himself, facing towards his editor. "'Too mean'?"

Yelling Misaki. Crying Usagi-san. Bad Misaki, mean Misaki…

"I mean, d'you think I should've listened more instead of yelling at him to leave?"

There was still at least two-thirds of a pint left in Ijuuin's can. He picked it up off the table, swirling the contents around but not actually drinking it. "I don't think you did anything wrong. He deserved it."

Had Misaki been looking, he might have noticed a shadow falling across his artist's eyes. But he wasn't looking, he was watching the lounge start to spin. Green eyes were glazed.

"I called him a lying bastard…" His stomach felt weird again when he remembered that. Sticky. Black. With some difficulty, he let his head loll to the side so he was looking at Ijuuin. "Maybe if I hadn't done that, Usagi-chichi wouldn't be trying to make him marry that lady… You think?"

He wasn't sure if he was hoping for him to agree or disagree with him, but Ijuuin did neither. Instead, he leaned forwards in a manner which, had it not been Misaki's friend and idol, might have been almost menacing. He could smell his cologne again; it was pungent and spicy.

"I think the beer is making you forget what he did to you." Woah, his voice was different. Harder and sharper. Even though they were out of focus, those sapphire-like eyes pierced very deeply into Misaki's. "Remember all those lies he told you? All that pain he put you through? Just look at what that disgusting father of his did to your face…"

There was a sharp pain in Misaki's cheek as Ijuuin's thumb rubbed rather roughly over the bruise, taking a streak of concealer with it. He winced.

 _But, Usagi-chichi was right…_ It was his fault. His fault Usagi-san might have to marry the red lady. The thought made his eyes sting, somehow.

"It jus'…" He hiccupped. "It jus' made me sad… Thinking that _he's_ sad. Like the ending…"

His voice was coming out as a mumble now. Ijuuin was still right in front of him, meaning that when he released a long sigh, his breath rushed by Misaki's ear.

"Are you saying you miss him, then?"

Misaki prickled at that, and he snorted. "No!" Miss Usagi-san! If that were true, why would Misaki have walked away that night?

"'Course I don' miss him…" That night, in September… It seemed like yesterday and light years ago at the same time. In the cloudy haze that was settling over his vision, he thought he could see the harsh glare of that streetlamp, and Usagi-san's back getting further and further away…

"'S been ages…" It had been no time at all. The air had been cold, and Ijuuin's hand was on his shoulder again, and there had been hot tears running down his face. "I don't… miss him…"

He could still see him in the fog. Usagi-san, reaching desperately for him. Usagi-san, smiling at him in the elevator. Usagi-san, patiently sitting beside him as he cried in the waiting room. Usagi-san, ruffling his hair, laughing, talking, smoking, holding him, pouncing him, kissing him, loving him…

Usagi-san. Usagi-san. _Usagi-san_.

A tiny, broken sob caught in Misaki's throat. And, though he was barely there at that point, he knew exactly what was going on. He knew it was time to stop.

"Oh, who am I kidding?" Shaking his head, Misaki buried his face in his two hands. A long breath shuddered past his lips. "I fucked up, sensei."

Ijuuin's reply sounded strangely far away. "What are you talking about?"

"I…" Muffled by his hands, he stammered. "I sh-shouldn't've left him. I shouldn't've s-said all that stuff to him." He sniffed and lifted his face, and now there really _were_ hot tears trickling down his cheeks, and he wiped them away with the sleeve of his fancy dress shirt. "It was a mistake, sensei, the worst mistake I ever made…"

Two hands grabbed him by the shoulders. The wrong hands.

"He loved your brother." Though it remained cool and quiet, a note of urgency had crept into Ijuuin's voice. "He used his best friend, and then he used you."

"I know…" His fingers were gripping Misaki's shoulders too hard. "I know, but…"

 _But_ I _loved_ him _. I still love him, and I can't stop. I'll never be able to stop._

"But nothing." Ijuuin's fingers dug in. They were burning him through his thin shirt. "He didn't deserve you, Misaki. He's a liar."

"But he's morethan that!" Misaki cried. More tears were falling, sore and salty, and he tried to gather them all, smearing them across his cheeks. A deep, smoky voice echoed inside his head.

 _What a dirty way of crying._

This only made the tears flow faster. He shook his head. "He did some bad things, but he isn't a bad person." His voice was all nasally and thick. "I-I… I wouldn't even _be_ here if it weren't for him!"

Without Usagi-san, there would have been no straight As and no Mitsuhashi University for Misaki. There would have been no expensive suit on his back. There would have been no job offer from Marukawa, no editing for his favourite manga, and definitely no slumming around drinking beer on a celebrity's couch. Without Usagi-san, Misaki was nothing. He'd always known that, and yet… And yet…

In front of him, Ijuuin's face had become a featureless blob. "Misaki, you don't know what you're talking about."

Misaki ignored him. His temples were beginning to throb. "He's gonna marry that woman now…" Red photograph. Red hair, red dress, red hands. "He's in this mess because of me…"

"Misaki…"

"He… He…" He was trying, oh, he was trying so hard to hold even more tears back, but they welled and cascaded down his blotchy cheeks; the final, exhausted collapse of the floodgates of Misaki's emotions. He sobbed freely, shoulders heaving. "He was the love of my goddamn life, and I threw him away!"

" _Misaki…"_

The voice was echoey and strangely far-off. It was the wrong voice. Misaki barely heard it anyway; his body gave out and he crumpled to a crying heap, trembling. His head and the back of his throat ached and he couldn't see anything except for Usagi-san's face. It was pained and tortured and streaked with tears, and it was all Misaki's fault. If only he could turn back time… If only he could apologise, somehow.

"Usagi-san…"

"Misaki…"

There were hands on him again now; they were lifting him, carrying him, and now he was somewhere else with sheets and pillows that smelled of that spicy cologne. He lay back into them and sniffled. A set of fingers opened his shirt, button by button, and he felt them wander over his stomach and up to his chest.

Somewhere, right at the back of Misaki's booze-addled brain, he knew that this was _wrong_. Wrong hands, wrong bed, wrong everything. But overpowering everything were the thoughts of Usagi-san, and what an idiot Misaki was, and how much he missed him and wanted him here, wanted to be beside him. And so, he thought, perhaps if he just pretended that the warm hands roaming all over him were really Usagi-san's cool ones, and the voice calling his name was deeper and rougher, and the heady spice of cologne filling his nose was really soap and cigarettes and coffee… If the lips against his neck were not these foreign ones, and the eyes staring so intensely into his were really a soft lavender instead of a deep, ocean blue…

Then maybe everything would be okay.

"Usagi… san…" he murmured as lips met his own.

The world was fading fast around him. With tears still sparkling down his face, Misaki reached up and held onto the body above him; the right one or the wrong one, it didn't matter. He was in no state to question it now.

So he just closed his eyes, and allowed it to happen.

* * *

 ***Braces for angry reviews***


	41. Chapter 41

**Sorry for another long wait. School is kicking my butt :(**

 **On another note, I now have over five hundred reviews, and every single one of them has been lovely. To everyone who has commented: thank you, thank you, thank you. :)**

 **This chapter is mostly Misaki's inner thoughts and not that much action. I hope you guys don't find it boring; I tried to make everything coherent and interesting.**

 **That said, I hope you enjoy the chapter. :)**

* * *

There was a blade sawing through Misaki's skull when he came to.

Groggily, he tried to pry open one eye but immediately squeezed it shut again, hissing. Everything around him was a hundred shades too bright, like an overexposed photograph. A groan of pain left his lips as a croak; his throat was bone dry.

 _Where the fuck…?_

Exactly where he was or how he got there, Misaki didn't have a clue. All he knew at that moment was that _everything_ hurt; his eyes, his arm as he reached up to shield them, his stomach, and oh, his _head_ … He clutched at it, clenching his teeth. It was pounding like a drum, so _loud_ , too loud, and he felt sick.

 _What happened?_ He tried to think. First the premier, and then- that's right, he went to Ijuuin-sensei's house…A hazy image of five empty beer cans suddenly came to him, and he groaned, sagging into the pillows of what he assumed was Ijuuin's guest futon. _Great. Just great._

The hung-over editor could have kicked himself if he weren't so exhausted. What was he _thinking_ , getting so pissed at his sensei's place? Misaki just hoped he hadn't embarrassed himself; he couldn't remember why he'd done it, but he must have really gone overboard with the booze last night. What else could have caused the killer headache? It would also explain his sick stomach, although, Misaki couldn't help but notice, it didn't quite explain all the aches and pains in… other parts of his body.

Wait…

Wait.

Squinting, Misaki struggled to lift himself, feeling his heart accelerate ever so slightly. He should not be hurting there. Only then did he pick up on the smell that was lingering like an afterimage in the air; it was familiar and filled him with dread. Where the hell was he, and what had he-

He felt a cold, sticky residue on his inner thighs, and blanched.

 _No…_ His eyes widened, pupils constricting against the brightness. No, he _couldn't_ have…

As if to shatter any doubts he was clinging to, the sheets beside Misaki then shifted. The scent of spiced cologne rose up along with a sigh.

 _No, no, no…_

His heart thumping fearfully in his chest, Misaki turned his head slowly, bit by bit, to the side. Sunlight burned his eyes, bloodshot and horrified, as they travelled downwards. A slumbering shape swam into focus.

He was there.

The second he saw him, the arms holding Misaki up threatened to buckle. Everything- _everything_ , the words, the tears, the blue eyes and the kisses and the warm hands, all of it- came crashing down on him in an enormous, icy wave of memory, and his stomach threatened to turn on him. This wasn't real. No way.

But… he could see the rise and fall of the other man's chest beneath the sheets that pooled around him. He could hear his slow, even breaths. Misaki, blood roaring in his ears and sweat forming on his bare skin, could do nothing but stare.

"Oh God…"

His voice was hoarse. He pulled himself stiffly onto his haunches, prickling with goosebumps as cool air enclosed his naked body. Two slightly trembling hands covered his face.

"Oh my fucking God."

The utterance disturbed the man beside him; strands of ebony hair mussed against the pillow as he turned over. Misaki whipped his head towards him, terrified that he would wake, but he stayed sleeping soundly. His face was peaceful. Oblivious.

Just looking at him made Misaki's nausea double. He clutched at his stomach. "Fuck," he whispered, and crawled shakily out of the bed. He had to get out of there.

 _ **You're just gonna run off without a word? He'll be heartbroken.**_

The boy's knees were jelly-like when he stood, almost tumbling to the floorboards. Clothes… Where were his stupid clothes?! He scrabbled blindly, cursing under his breath. As he adjusted to the harsh morning light, he was able to take in details of the bedroom: a digital clock on the nightstand that read 8:52, and his best suit, crumpled now and scattered across the floor. Misaki grimaced as he untangled a red tie from his dress shirt.

 _This is really happening. We… I don't believe this._

The voice jeered at that. _**Believe it because it's true. You've really done it now, haven't you, huh? You're in so much shit, Misaki.**_

After a hasty clean-up with some tissues he found beside the bed, he dressed himself quickly, carelessly, all but yanking his clothes on. Only when he was done fumbling with the shirt buttons did he realise his jacket was missing. Ijuuin had taken it off, he remembered. Without a second glance back at the bed, he staggered his way into the living room, spotting the garment draped over the sofa back. As he approached, he saw the five empty cans that had caused this still lying on the coffee table, and scowled.

"What was I _doing_? Ah, shit!" he growled as, when reaching for his jacket, he knocked over the one upright can, which turned out to be full. Beer spilled all over the table and couch cushions, dripping onto the floor.

Misaki clasped his forehead. He could feel veins throbbing painfully beneath the skin. He wanted nothing more than to escape, but he couldn't just ditch Ijuuin-sensei and leave such a mess on his couch… At that moment, however, a noise from the bedroom made him panic, and all sense of proper etiquette went out of the window. Snatching up his jacket, he stumbled to the entryway, pushed his feet into his shoes and took off, not even bothering to be quiet as he shut the door behind him.

"Shit, shit, shit…"

His stomach was roiling by the time he made it out of the apartment complex. It was a clear summer morning, but somehow, the fresh air only heightened Misaki's nauseated state. He made it all of two steps out the door before lurching towards the sidewalk, doubling over and vomiting into the nearest drain, entire frame convulsing as he heaved and retched.

When he was done he was still for a moment, panting. Sweat dripped from his face and mingled with the bile on his chin. Misaki tasted the bitter acids coating his mouth, saw his own spew disappearing into the metal grating.

 _ **Disgusting. Stupid, pathetic little whore.**_

Though the streets were empty, Misaki felt no less humiliated. Wiping his mouth, he straightened and- with one last, guilty glance at the complex, towards the bedroom window- began the long and shameful journey back to his own home.

* * *

The first thing he did was take a shower. It wasn't only to try and soothe the hangover, though once he was under the spray Misaki found that no amount of scrubbing could change how filthy he was now feeling. When he stepped out he caught sight of himself in the bathroom mirror; haggard and grey-faced, ugly bags under his eyes, and several reddening, circular imprints of his sensei's teeth marring his neck and upper torso. They reminded him of brands, like those of a slave. He traced a finger around one- felt where his body had been claimed and marked- and shuddered, quickly heading for his room so he could sleep off the headache.

 _I fucked up so bad_ , he thought to himself, downing half a glass of water along with two painkillers. Questions started swarming his mind like bees, frantic and restless. _How will I ever face Ijuuin-sensei again? What if Kirishima-san finds out, or worse, Isaka-san? Will I lose my job? Will sensei? What if I caught something from him? Why did I have to get so stinking drunk in the first place?!_

As Misaki crawled under the sheets, his bleary eyes focussed on something small, lying just beside him on his pillow; a plush, grey rabbit toy.

 _Oh, right_ , he thought as his eyelids drifted downwards. _That's why._

* * *

That was in the morning. Misaki didn't wake up again until dinnertime, but- although his head and stomach had settled- he didn't feel like eating. Instead, he sat at the kitchen table, nursing a mug of lukewarm coffee, watching a grey blanket of clouds drift past the window with hollow, green eyes.

Despite the weather, the kitchen was warm. It was almost July, and Misaki was uncomfortable in the thick turtleneck he wore. He didn't know why he'd bothered with it; while it may have covered them up, it wasn't as if the garment could truly make all the blemishes on Misaki's body disappear. He could almost _feel_ them, each individual little tooth mark eating away into his flesh. It made him shiver. This action alone brought on yet another discomfort: a painful twinge around his lower half, which was still sore in the places he'd been… Was 'used' the right word?

 _I'm sure sensei didn't mean to… We were pissed, after all._ A heavy sigh escaped Misaki, deflating him. No, it wasn't Ijuuin's fault. Misaki knew he should call him- try and clean things up- but right now the very thought was simply unbearable. The editor was too ashamed and disgusted with himself- and that it had been Ijuuin, of all people, made the entire thing even worse.

He supposed it wasn't quite as bad as, say, hooking up with some random stranger he met a bar or something. But at least then they'd both know there were no strings attached. Misaki knew how Ijuuin felt about him, and he'd felt bad enough that he wasn't able to reciprocate. But now? How could he have been so cruel to his idol- to tantalise him with a single night of intimacy, only to leave him wanting again?

Maybe he would forget. He did after he confessed to Misaki that time- and he was drunk then, too. Still, would that really make Misaki feel any less guilty? It wouldn't change what he did.

He sipped his coffee, still struggling to process everything that had happened. Up until now, this kind of thing had seemed so… unfathomable to him. Misaki wasn't the sort of person who just fucked any guy who was handy- at least, he hadn't _thought_ he was.

 _ **Guess you're not so perfect after all, huh? Nii-chan would be so disappointed.**_

 _But… But it wasn't my fault!_ Frustrated, Misaki grit his teeth and bunched his own hair into two fists. _I was drunk, I wasn't thinking straight!_

It was a crappy excuse and he knew it. Before he'd even finished the sentence in his head, the second horrible realisation of the day struck him.

 _ **Hmm, where have we heard that before? Oh yeah- it's**_ **exactly** _ **what Usagi-san said before you walked out on him.**_

What little content there was in Misaki's stomach soured. Slowly, he set down his mug, resting his elbows on the table and lowering his head into his palms.

"Oh, Usagi-san…"

 _That_ was the very worst part of it all. Not that Misaki had committed such a sordid act, but that it was the very _same_ act that he himself had deemed despicable enough to warrant all of that crap he gave Usagi-san: the person he loved.

Yes, loved. Misaki could no longer deny that. All his pride- his stupid, arrogant, childish pride- had vanished now, so ashamed was he at what had happened last night. It could no longer restrict him. The truth was, no matter how Misaki had tried to delude himself, his feelings for the author hadn't faded. Not one bit. He was as hopelessly in love with him as he always was.

He'd always known that, deep down. But what Misaki was now realising too late was that he'd been wrong...

Because Usagi-san had loved _him_ , too.

A sudden ringing cut through the silence. Misaki didn't even have to look at his phone to know who was calling. He continued to stare at the table top, waiting for the noise to cease. Only then did he reach for the device. He should have returned the call, but instead, he somehow found himself opening his camera roll. He began to scroll, hesitantly at first, but gaining speed, up and up and up. Frozen images blurred by, each one older than the last. He kept scrolling until he was months back; years.

It had been ages since he'd looked at these old photos, but Misaki could never bring himself to delete them, either. It was odd. Most of them weren't particularly special moments; just random snapshots of ordinary, everyday life over the years. But they were special to _him_ , he thought as he swiped through them, taking his time, lingering on each picture. That was why he'd felt the need to capture them in the first place.

And he knew why they were special. It wasn't hard to spot the common denominator: of all the pictures Misaki had taken over the years, the vast majority always contained a pair of lavender eyes somewhere, or a sweep of silver hair, or a crooked smile.

Looking at them made Misaki's chest feel all soft and full.

Slowly, he flicked his way through their life together, all carefully documented with Misaki's phone camera. There were pictures from dates and trips, the two of them posing next to fish tanks or landmarks or exotic backdrops. There was one of them on a picnic blanket surrounded by sakura petals that used to be his screensaver. Occasionally a more 'inappropriate' image would appear, taken by the older man without Misaki's permission. A lot of them were just pointless selfies, their arms around each other's necks, cheek-to-cheek. As generic as a couple's photo album could get. And yet, Misaki had saved every single one.

Eventually, he came to a picture of himself and Usagi-san in Kamakura, sitting outside a café with the jar of marbles on the table between them. Little did he know that was the last photo they'd ever take together. Of its own accord, Misaki thumb reached out and brushed delicately over the screen, tracing the contour of Usagi-san's cheek.

For a long time, he simply hadn't been able to believe what the man had said to him last September. How could he possibly have loved Misaki, after all, if he was making drunken moves on Takahiro and engaging in disturbing role-playing rituals? Nonetheless, Misaki had always had doubts; if the epiphany from that book wasn't enlightening enough, the photographs certainly were. Now that Misaki had dared to look again- to delve back into his memories- he was noticing all the little details, like the gentleness of Usagi-san's hand ruffling his hair; or that soft, twinkly look his eyes took on when Misaki did or said something goofy; or the way his shoulders would tense and his brow would harden when Misaki talked about something bad that had happened to him; or the way he touched and kissed him, such a tenderness beneath that hunger; or that Usagi-san, in every picture Misaki had taken of him, was always looking not at the camera but behind it, at Misaki himself.

Misaki remembered now, all those times Usagi-san had gone out of his way for him, again and again. He saw the intensity of the emotion in the photographs- preserved in each precious moment- and he saw that it was _real_. Usagi-san really _had_ loved him.

And what had Misaki done? Tossed him away like he was trash.

"Why did I do it?" he mumbled. Anger began to overcome the grief within him. How had he been stupid enough, blind enough, to turn his back on someone so devoted to him? Who did he think he was, looking down his nose at the man who supported him for all those years? Why couldn't he have just been honest with himself in the first place?

 _ **Because you're an idiot, that's why. An idiot**_ **and** _ **a hypocrite.**_ Misaki fought to keep his composure as he stared down at the photograph. He understood now. What Usagi-san had done with Kamijou, and later Takahiro, was not an act of malice or sordid lust. Rather, it was a combination of confusion, desperation and loneliness.

Misaki understood, because he'd experienced it now himself. He wasn't going to pretend he hadn't wanted Ijuuin to be his rabbit last night.

"You made a mistake," he whispered, still gazing down at the pixelated purple eyes within his phone screen. He just made a simple mistake, and Misaki had punished him for it- unjustly. Selfishly. The edges of the photograph began to blur. "I'm so sorry, Usa-"

He had to stop there; the name wouldn't make it past his lips without breaking. Misaki firmly closed both his mouth and his eyes, inhaling the scent of cooling black coffee. It was no use snivelling like a baby. This was all his fault, after all; if only he hadn't been so stubborn, maybe he wouldn't be sitting here in this cold, empty box of a flat. His life could have been back to normal by now.

 _Maybe I could…_

A sudden rush of excitement swept over Misaki, and he opened his eyes. His heart started beating fast as he looked at his phone. Maybe… Maybe he could call Usagi-san! Now that Misaki was sure he wasn't a liar, perhaps there was just the tiniest chance he missed him, too? Maybe if he just called him and was honest, they could try again… Misaki could apologise, and they could start over. Usagi-san was always so forgiving; he'd accept his apology in a heartbeat, he was certain…

Just as he was about to open his contacts, however, it was suddenly back again.

 _ **What the hell are you doing?**_ the voice demanded, sneering. _**You seriously think Usagi-san still misses you, when you treated him like total shit? You think you deserve a second chance, after all you've done?**_

Misaki wavered. He felt his lower lip quiver. "But…"

 _ **But nothing. You made this mess, Misaki, and now you've got to suck it up. No way in hell would Usagi-san ever take you back now. If you press that call button, you'll only be inconveniencing him.**_

The boy's heart sank into the pit of his stomach. For a moment or two, his brain tried to protest- but eventually, he set the phone back on the table. His head lowered along with it. It was too late. Too late…

A teardrop splashed onto the table top, startling him. The voice snapped.

 _ **You brought this all on yourself. Don't you dare cry.**_

With another deep breath, Misaki rose abruptly, blinking away the burning tears. It was true; there was nothing he could do now. The damage was done. Missing Usagi-san was pointless- besides, if he thought about him anymore it would drive him insane. He needed a distraction.

Emptying the coffee down the sink, Misaki made his way to his tatty couch, fumbling around for a pen and a piece of paper. He'd been meaning to do this for a while; might as well be now. He tried to ignore the throbbing in his chest and sting of salt against his eyes as he started to write, struggling to see in the dimming light of the living room.

 _You can't have him. You blew it. Just stop thinking about him._

Not thinking about him, however, only served to make room in Misaki's mind for even more problems; namely, the fact that he'd just messed around with his company's star mangaka and then ditched him the morning after. Just thinking about the impending consequences put him in a cold sweat. He didn't _think_ Ijuuin would tell anyone, but… was it possible someone would find them out? He recalled all those fans at the premier, pointing and whispering and snapping photos, and his throat went dry. If Kirishima-san or Isaka-san or anyone like that were to connect the dots, well then, Misaki could kiss his dream job goodbye. He could see the pink slip being handed to him now: _for inappropriate relations with a colleague…_

He swallowed. As he continued to scribble away, Misaki's anxiety levels only kept climbing as he realised that, as well as putting his own job at risk, his idiotic actions last night could well have landed Ijuuin in hot water, too. While Isaka-san probably wouldn't fire him (he was his main source of income, next to Usagi-san), what he'd done with his editor was sure to jeopardise the star mangaka's reputation with his boss.

A strong stab of guilt pierced Misaki as he remembered his sensei's sleeping face. He must be feeling pretty awful. The editor could only hope with all his might that Ijuuin understood that it had all been a huge mistake, and that what happened between them- as harsh as Misaki felt for thinking it- really didn't mean a thing. If not, it would only be more painful for Ijuuin to wake up to an empty bed and a deserted apartment.

 _I… I'm sure he gets it_ , Misaki thought, though there was a hint of uncertainty. _He knows I don't like him in that way, right? Besides, he probably feels just as bad about it- He didn't know what we were doing any more than I did._

Still, Misaki knew that at some point he'd have to bite the bullet and apologise. It just wasn't right of him to run off on Ijuuin like that, not even leaving a note or answering his calls, not to mention ruining his friend's couch by spilling beer all over it…

The hand holding the pen suddenly jolted, sending a jagged line of ink across Misaki's words. He froze in place, leaning over the coffee table, the tip of the biro's nib just hovering above the page.

That can… The one he'd knocked over… That was Ijuuin's can. And it was the _only_ can Misaki hadn't emptied himself. And… it had been full. Misaki clearly remembered watching it spill over the couch before; more than half the contents was still in there. That meant… That meant…

 _He…_ Misaki's brow creased with furrows, so deep they might have been cut with a knife. His grip on the pen tightened. "He wasn't drunk at all."

* * *

 **I'm sure this chapter is going to piss a lot of people off. I know most of you urged me not to have Misaki and Ijuuin go 'all the way', but after your comments on chapter 34, I'm doing my best to have faith in my own decisions as an author. I thought long and hard about it, and I decided this was the best course of action for my story. Like I already explained to some of you, I wanted Misaki to have an experience that would cause him to have more of an understanding of Akihiko- even if it's at a price. Besides, this fic is all about making mistakes and learning from them.**

 **As for what exactly Misaki was writing, you'll find out in a later chapter. ;)**

 **As always, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and please review. Thank you very much for reading!**

 **P.S. Did you guys read the new Junjou Mix that came out a few weeks ago? ThE fEeLS!**

 **P.P.S. One last note: I have recently been tweaking my profile and I've added a section with a list of my future fanfiction projects, if anyone would like to know what comes next after this one is over. You can also check my profile if you're not sure about the status of a story. :)**


	42. Chapter 42

**I know this is way overdue, and I wish I had a good excuse for it. The truth is I've just been up to my eyeballs in homework, and I felt like taking a break from this story to have fun with some other, lighter stuff because I wasn't feeling too confident about my writing, and I always feel quite pressured to make it good with this story. I know I said I wasn't going to worry about that anymore, but sometimes I just can't help it. I'll try not to let this happen again in future.**

 **To everyone reading, thank you all for being so patient (except for whichever one of you it was who kept leaving reviews on my other stories, demanding that I finish this one :/). I hope these next couple of chapters don't disappoint.**

* * *

 _Click_ , flash. "Smile!"

"Look this way, please." _Click, click-click, click._

"A little to the left…"

 _Click_. "If you could move your shoulder back a little- That's it, perfect."

 _Click-_ flash, _click_ -flash, _click-_ flash. "Come on, you two, _smile_!"

They did as they were told, arranging their mouths just so. There was another flurry of movement as the cameras closed in, and more noise; an incessant medley of buttons clicking and shutters snapping and people shouting. They kept repeating that word: _perfect_. That was them today, alright. Picture perfect.

They must have been in the studio for hours now. Akihiko's head hurt. There were enormous, square lamps above him, seemingly suspended in blackness whenever he looked up. They glared down at him, burning his eyes and beading his brow with sweat. The flashes made him dizzy. Still, what else could he do? He smiled.

Nobody smiled back. He couldn't see a single face in the black void beyond the lighting; only tripods and lenses, glinting coldly. They did not smile, but stared like dead fish as they encircled him. Them. There was nobody else here but _her_.

He couldn't see her, but he could feel her presence beside him. She hovered at the edge of his sight like some sort of phantom. Akihiko fought the urge to turn his head, study her properly for once. Did she hate this as much as he did?

He glanced surreptitiously sideways, his eyes just flickering towards her for a microsecond. He had to keep very still, or this would take even longer. He only caught the barest glimpse of her; a blink of red hair and pearly teeth. A perfect smile, beaming with happiness.

Only it wasn't real. He knew, because he also saw her eyes. The smile did not reach them; they were the same as Akihiko's, as glassy and dull as the bulging lenses surrounding them.

This wasn't real. None of it was real.

 _How?_ Akihiko wondered. He concealed his troubled thoughts with a mask of serenity, smiling, smiling, smiling. _How did I get here?_

* * *

It was all because of the meeting three days ago.

He was heading to his father's estate on Sunday, eyelids drooping as he tried not to hit his head against the steering wheel. It was like balancing a block of concrete on his neck. It was eight in the morning, and he was shattered. Not only had he downed several shots of whiskey before bed the previous night, he was also in a thunderous mood because of what he'd seen in the news earlier.

In a moment of petty weakness, he'd noticed a video of Kyo Ijuuin on the red carpet in the celebrity gossip section and had been unable to stop himself from clicking on it. The author was on the couch in front of his laptop, a coffee in hand as he tried to shake off a few layers of sleep before he was forced to leave the house, staring at the video with narrowed, bloodshot eyes.

 _Look at that asshole_ , he'd thought, watching the mangaka saunter along between the masses of squealing fans, grinning lazily, stopping now and then to sign an autograph or take a selfie with someone. The author had shaken his head in disgust at some of the comments ( _OMG he's sooo HAWT!1!_ ) when one in particular had caused his scrolling finger to freeze.

 _Sorry girls,_ it read, _but i think sensei might be playing for the other team! i was at the premier last night an i saw him going home w/ this guy:_

Attached was a picture of Ijuuin leading Misaki into his car.

While the fujoshis had clamoured over the comment ( _Nooo wayyy that guy is so cuteee! how old do u think he is? - OMG I KNEW HE WAS GAY I NEW IT! – D: R u sure they rnt just friends?_ ), Akihiko had felt a cold, dry frost crystalizing throughout his body. Misaki was wearing the suit Akihiko bought for him last year, and Ijuuin's arm was draped over his shoulder, infuriatingly intimate. It was with a trembling hand that he'd slammed the laptop shut.

 _So, you've finally done it, have you?_ he'd thought, glaring at photograph Ijuuin. His knuckles were white around his coffee mug. _You've officially nabbed him. You must be so fucking pleased with yourself._

He hadn't had time to grieve, however, or think about all the things the two of them might have gotten up to at Ijuuin's place, or worry about how this photo could potentially affect Misaki's job, because his father wanted him to come over and- he grimaced- meet his fiancée for the first father was going to be there, too, and so was Isaka-san, for some reason. Akihiko would rather drink a bottle of bleach than spend a morning with those four, but his father had him dangling from a thread at this point, and he didn't dare refuse. One wrong move from Akihiko and that photograph would be the least of Misaki's worries.

And so he'd put on his smart, navy-blue suit and dragged his feet out of the door regardless, and now he was pulling up outside the mansion. It stood half-submerged by the garden's ancient trees as it always had, dappled with summer sunlight. There was a car parked outside he didn't recognise: a gleaming, silver sliver of metal. As Akihiko stopped beside it, he saw his own reflection in its tinted windows (it was warm; his own were rolled down) and felt a sudden urge to vomit.

"God…"

This was actually happening. He sat back in the driver's seat, rubbing his hands over his face. He was going to meet her. The person in that house was the person he was going to be bound to for the rest of his life, and Akihiko barely knew her. God. He couldn't do this. _God_.

He supposed he could just drive away. In fact, he could go anywhere he wanted to escape; anywhere in the world. But if he did that, who knew what spiteful forms of revenge his father would exact upon his precious Misaki?

The author sucked in a deep breath. _Let's just get this over with_. He got out of the car and walked up the enormous driveway.

Before he'd even raised his fist to knock, Tanaka opened the door. He bowed as his youngest master approached, and Akihiko could see the flecks of grey in his once jet-black hair. Even before he'd reached the top of the steps, he could sense the butler's barely concealed distress.

"Good morning, Akihiko-sama," he said, rising. His voice was not as easy as usual.

"Good morning."

They hesitated for a second. Akihiko's discomfort only grew at the expression on Tanaka's face; there was a neat little line between the butler's eyebrows, and his kindly, brown eyes were soft with concern. It made Akihiko feel almost guilty. How much Tanaka knew exactly, he wasn't sure, but the Usamis' loyal servant was sharp enough to put the pieces together. What must he think of Akihiko now?

The butler himself shifted from one smart shoe to the other. The hands behind his back were surely fidgeting. "I suppose I should congratulate you," he said eventually.

"Don't," said Akihiko, looking away. His voice was quiet, as was the sigh that escaped his lips. "I'm sure you expected better of me, Tanaka."

Back when Akihiko was a child, Tanaka had seen first-hand what his parents' broken marriage had done to him. He could only imagine how repulsed the butler must be now that he was following the same seedy path even so. He was surprised, therefore, when a gentle hand suddenly appeared on his shoulder.

Akihiko looked up. There it was again, in Tanaka's eyes: the worry. Perhaps even pity. But not a trace of disgust.

"I… wish things could have been different, yes," he said. "But know that I never have and still don't blame you, Akihiko-sama."

It should have made him feel better, and yet Akihiko found he couldn't even reply. The compassion in the servant's tone sickened him. _But you_ should. _You_ should _blame me._ Everyone should have despised him.

But Tanaka only ushered him inside without another word.

Their footsteps echoed in the cavernous foyer. Upon seeing him, Alexander scrambled up from where he'd been lying by the staircase and scurried over, snuffling around Akihiko's legs. The author ignored him. He followed Tanaka to the heavy, oak door at the end of the hallway that led to the drawing room, just ajar enough to allow low murmurs to escape. As the butler knocked, three short little taps with his knuckles, Akihiko had to swallow away the dryness in his throat.

"Excuse me, Usami-sama," Tanaka said when given permission to enter. "Akihiko-sama has arrived."

Despite the thick ropes of cord that held the heavy drapes away from the windows, the drawing room was strangely dim. Fuyuhiko had grown partial to English décor after his ten years over there, and this room with its patterned rug and chandelier and oil painting always made Akihiko feel like he'd stepped through a time portal and into a Victorian manor.

Six pairs of eyes swivelled towards him as he entered. Akihiko's father and Yamato-san were seated comfortably beside the unlit fireplace in velvet armchairs, each holding a small, bulb-shaped scotch glass. By the window with Isaka-san, unfortunately, was Haruhiko; his brother's glasses glinted as he eyed him. Tama, their Siamese, blinked at him before curling up on her cushion. And beside her, primly poised on the edge of the couch, half-hidden by a bar of dust-moted sunlight, there _she_ was.

Akihiko's stomach contorted.

She rose when she saw Akihiko, as did her father. Her full, green skirt whispered against the carpet as she came closer, and the author found himself suddenly paralysed. Still, when father and daughter stopped in front of him, he managed a stiff bow.

"Wonderful to see you again, Akihiko-kun," Yamato rumbled. Once flaming red like his child's, his hair had thinned to a peculiar shade of strawberry-blonde, and he wore a pair of gold-rimmed glasses that made his eyes look unnaturally large. They twinkled proudly as he swept a hand out before his daughter, like he was presenting a prize pig. "This is Sakae."

Akihiko straightened to look at her. Her hair- the same colour as her lipstick- was pressed into careful curls, and there was a dusting of pink on her cheekbones. The pendant on her necklace was a poisonous green. Her head, small and heart-shaped, was reservedly dipped.

"It's a pleasure," he said.

She offered him a shiny, red smile but didn't say anything. Her father spoke for her. "The same goes to you, Akihiko-kun. Sakae has admired your work for years now, haven't you, dear?"

Sakae nodded. Akihiko imagined a string attached to the top of her head, some invisible hand tugging it up and down.

From his seat across the room, Fuyuhiko waved his son and his soon-to-be-daughter-in-law towards the enormous, antique couch. "Have a seat, you two."

With just the barest hint of a glower towards his father, Akihiko did so. The faded, wine-red cushions smelled of dust; everything in this room always seemed to smell of dust, no matter how often the maids scurried around on their tiptoes with feathered poles. It made the place feel even more ancient. Akihiko never liked going in there- not that he'd ever often had to. This room was more like Fuyuhiko's stage, where he entertained his numerous guests with slick words and expensive liquor. His son's services, until now, had never been required.

When Sakae resumed her original position beside him, the air between them immediately became thick and heavy. Akihiko found he couldn't even look at her. It went against every romance novel he'd ever written; this was not what newly-engaged couples were supposed to feel like. They sat at opposite ends of the couch, avoiding each other's eyes.

 _Is this what my entire married life is going to feel like?_

Whilst Isaka-san and Haruhiko stayed by the window, communicating in mutters, Yamato again lowered his bulky form into the seat opposite Fuyuhiko, who reached for the decanter on the table between them. He looked, Akihiko couldn't help but notice, incredibly pleased with himself for having gotten everything to go his way- now that their children were engaged, a healthy connection between his and Yamato's companies was practically assured- but while he was sitting across from the other man he also seemed visibly tense. Clearly, Fuyuhiko was anxious for this little meeting to go smoothly.

"Drink, Akihiko?" he asked, keeping his voice light. "Sakae-san?"

Sakae shook her head, and Akihiko declined. Yamato made a 'tch' noise with his tongue.

"Oh, nonsense, you two!" he said, having already (judging by the slight flush of his skin) consumed a good deal of the costly scotch. He gestured to Fuyuhiko. "Give them both a glass, Usami-san- Today is a celebration for both our families, is it not?"

Holding two glasses in one hand and the decanter in the other, Fuyuhiko smiled his oiliest smile. "Indeed, Yamato-san."

The amber liquid gurgled forth. Akihiko watched his sombre reflection, miniaturised in every tiny, glass face of the crystalline bottle. He and Sakae took their glasses without drinking.

"I am delighted," Yamato said when everybody was suitably watered, "that you have decided to take me up on my offer, Akihiko-kun. I couldn't ask for a worthier recipient of my daughter's hand."

Pressed up against the armrest, as far away from Sakae as he could get, Akihiko didn't have a clue how to respond, but a pointed look from his father managed to dredge something up.

"The honour is entirely mine, Yamato-san." Sensing that wasn't enough, he groped for a continuation. "Your Sakae-san is clearly a…" _A_ … What _was_ she? He hadn't even heard her speak yet.

 _Just make something up, you idiot. Pick a line from one of your novels._ "A highly refined young lady."

Satisfied, Fuyuhiko gave a small nod. The Yamatos both smiled, though Sakae's big, blue eyes as she looked at Akihiko seemed rather blank.

He couldn't say it surprised him. Did she hate this as much as he did, he wondered?

Yamato lifted his scotch glass. Sun from the windows turned it golden, like syrup or honey. "I'd like to propose a toast," he said, yellowish, rodent-like teeth on display, "to Sakae, Akihiko-kun and the joining of our two families.

"May the Yamatos and the Usamis share a bright and prosperous future together for many years."

"Here, here," said Fuyuhiko.

The four bulbous glasses clinked against one another, and Akihiko was dragged back to that night almost a year ago, on the day after Misaki's birthday. Such joy and warmth had filled him as Takahiro made that toast, he recalled. If he'd only known his moment of stupidity that night would lead to _this_ …

He watched Fuyuhiko, smugly sipping his drink, and felt an arc of pure hatred rip through him.

"Of course," Yamato went on, setting his glass down and addressing the two youngest, "Now that you two are officially fiancées, we've a great deal of planning to get through before we celebrate."

"Ah, yes." Turning to the window, Fuyuhiko called, "Speaking of that, I believe you wanted to make some kind of proposition, Ryuichiro-kun?"

"Yes."

Isaka-san sauntered over, and Haruhiko took his cue to leave the room; Tama stretched and jumped off the couch, following him. He bowed silently to each of their guests, sending a subtle but definite sneer in Akihiko's direction on his way out.

The younger brother barely noticed. He was too busy hearing Yamato's words roll around his head, like a ball on roulette wheel. _Fiancées…_ It sounded so wrong to him.

While Fuyuhiko was pouring Isaka-san a drink (Akihiko still couldn't figure out what he doing here; true, the Isakas and the Usamis had been business partners for years, but today was exclusively an Usami-Yamato affair, wasn't it?), Yamato watched Haruhiko carefully closing the door behind him. His eyebrows were slightly raised.

"I must say, Usami-san," he said, once Haruhiko's footsteps had receded, "Akihiko-kun is a charming young man from what I've seen so far, but I'm very impressed with your eldest, too. I didn't expect Haruhiko-kun to be such a fine specimen."

"Oh?" Setting the decanter down, Fuyuhiko lifted a brow. "Why is that, Yamato-san?"

"Well, given his, ahem… origins, I suppose I expected him to be a little more uncouth," said Yamato. He was swirling his scotch around in his glass, oblivious to the apprehensive looks he was getting from both Akihiko and Isaka-san. They both knew how protective Fuyuhiko was of his favoured son.

"But, he's as proper as the legitimate here," Yamato said, nodding at Akihiko. Sipping his drink, he added rather casually, "I never would have suspected him to have been raised by a common whore."

There was a collective intake of breath.

Slowly, Fuyuhiko took a sip of his scotch. His smile had thinned.

"Well," he said, "we all have a past, Yamato-san, don't we?"

Either Yamato didn't notice the icy edge to his voice or he didn't care. "For sure, Usami-san, for sure," he said, draining the last few drops in his glass. As he placed it back on the low table with a _clank_ , he threw a wink at his future son-in-law. "Still, I'm afraid I can't say I'd be willing to give my blessings to a bastard, even if he is the heir to your company. Lucky for Akihiko-kun, eh?"

His laugh was lusty, unhindered by the stony silence from everybody else in the room. All trace of complacency had vanished from Fuyuhiko's features; the tendons in the hand holding his glass stood out. Evidently, he hadn't told Yamato the true nature of his extramarital relationship. He must have just said what he said to everyone else who asked- that Haruhiko was the 'unplanned' son of 'a mistress'. It always pained him to go into any further detail. Only the Usamis themselves and those closest to them knew the truth: that Fuyuhiko had and still did love Haruhiko's deceased mother deeply, far more than could ever be said for his wife.

Akihiko eyed his father, resisting the urge to scoff at his quiet fury. He knew how much Fuyuhiko hated his mother, whose arranged betrothal to him had been the only thing keeping him from the woman he truly cared for. _And yet, you're putting me through the same thing?_ Sometimes he wondered if he'd ever understand Fuyuhiko.

In any case, he might have felt some satisfaction in seeing his father take a hit (however small) of karma, had he not been so incredulous at Yamato's attitude himself. 'Bastard'? 'Legitimate'? What was this, the seventeenth century?

If Fuyuhiko could feel his son's disdainful eyes on him, he ignored them. He turned to Isaka-san, remarking tersely, "Yes, well, we seem to have gotten a little off-topic. Shall we get down to business?"


	43. Chapter 43

The next few hours passed in a slow, monotonous discussion that had Akihiko seriously considering just downing the entire decanter of scotch, if only to be rescued by drunken oblivion. Fuyuhiko and Yamato did most of the talking; Akihiko only spoke when asked something, Isaka-san made the odd remark, and Sakae didn't say anything. Not a word. The elderly men blathered their way through a whole load crap about a business partnership and some other equally mind-numbing stuff that Akihiko tuned out, and then they started talking about the actual wedding. Unsurprisingly, Yamato and Fuyuhiko made almost all of the decisions for their children: when and where they would be married, who would be invited, where they would live afterwards…

Listening to them- though he was trying hard not to- Akihiko felt suddenly and bizarrely compelled to burst into tears. He'd thought he'd broken away from this wretched family, made his own life. And yet, here he was, nodding powerlessly along as his father and some other old fart dictated his entire future to him.

"… Oh, and another thing, Usami-san," said Yamato after what felt like years of droning. He'd unbuttoned his chequered suit jacket and was settled back in his chair, empty glass dangling from one hand. "There's still the matter of who's going to announce the news, and how. Now, I don't know about you, but I have an upcoming television interview in which I could mention-"

"Ah, sorry to interrupt, Yamato-san," said Isaka-san, causing them to turn their heads. "But if it's alright with you, I was hoping Akihiko could announce the engagement himself."

The novelist frowned. "Me?"

"Why is that, Ryuichiro-kun?" Yamato asked.

Setting his own glass down, Isaka-san- in the formal, slightly sycophantic tone he always adopted in these situations- explained, "Well, as I'm sure you know, Yamato-san, Akihiko is something of a celebrity in the literary world. His fanbase is huge, and as such, readers are always eager to keep up-to-date with what's going on in his private life. You know how nosy fans can be, after all- some of them track his every move.

"As such, I think his engagement to your daughter is an opportunity for some good publicity," he said, giving Yamato an eyeful of his sparkly teeth. "For Marukawa Shoten, Usami Corps _and_ Yamato Industries."

So, _that_ was why Isaka-san had decided to butt in today. Akihiko was hard pressed not to roll his eyes; it was just like the director to try and use something like this for his own gain. He exploited his employees in whatever way he could. Ever since Akihiko published his first book at seventeen, Isaka-san had been taking advantage of his wide reputation, broadcasting to the public whatever aspects of the author's personal life he thought would bring the company more attention without even consulting Akihiko first. It was only the rosy stuff he made a big deal out of, though, like the awards and charity events. He left out anything that would shine a bad light on Akihiko or the company itself- family feuds, for example, or alcoholism. Or a furtive, homosexual relationship with a barely legal boy.

Surprisingly enough, it was Fuyuhiko who first protested. "Do we really want to make such a spectacle out of a family matter, though?"

"Well, Ryuichiro-kun makes a good point," Yamato said, shrugging. The action was casual enough, but Akihiko was sure he saw the man's bespectacled eyes take on a gleam at the mention of 'good publicity'. "Things like this will certainly matter to Akihiko's fans, so if we can use their interest to our benefit, why not?"

"Well…" Fuyuhiko began, somewhat reluctantly. "In all honesty, I have to wonder if making my son's engagement to Sakae-san public might attract more… negative attention, as oppose to good publicity."

"And why is that?" Yamato demanded, instantly defensive.

"I assure you, Yamato-san, I couldn't be more proud to be welcoming your daughter into our family," said Fuyuhiko quickly. His placating smile soon gave way, however, to a more serious expression, and he laced his fingers together. "But we must be pragmatic. Akihiko's and Sakae-san's is, of course, an arranged marriage, and I'm sure I don't need to remind you of the considerable stigma behind such a concept these days."

Yamato's eyebrows unknotted. "Ah."

"Yes, you know how society tends to romanticise everything now," Fuyuhiko went on. He still looked slightly uncomfortable; probably didn't like admitting his brilliant scheme had a flaw, Akihiko thought. "That's why I don't think we ought to call too much attention to Akihiko's engagement- Just as I was deliberately vague about Haruhiko's betrothal to my niece a few years ago.

"I doubt Akihiko's fans would see the sense in our little arrangement, you see. It would only upset them, and that's bound to have repercussions for us."

From the way he was talking, one would think he blamed Akihiko for the way his fans would react to the news. Indeed, when Yamato remarked, "I hadn't considered that," Fuyuhiko eyed his son slyly, his lip curling not with mirth but with contempt.

"Yes, well, these are things I often have to bear in mind now that we have an _artist_ in the family."

He said 'artist' the same way he might say 'criminal' or 'womaniser'. _Fuck off, old man_ , said Akihiko in his head. At least he was creating something people loved. At least he wasn't a sleazy, money-grabbing crook like everybody else in this fucking family. At least he'd gone out and found his dream.

Before Yamato could reply, however, Isaka-san jumped in once again.

"If I may, gentlemen," he said, leaning forwards over the couch. " _I_ considered it, and that's where my proposal comes in."

The small party exchanged glances. Looking over his shoulder, Akihiko frowned suspiciously at his employer. What sort of scheme had he cooked up this time? Whatever it was, Akihiko wanted no part of it- He despised the idea of turning his sad little fake marriage into a media circus, which was what he suspected Isaka-san had in mind.

Not that he was in much of a position to protest, if it was.

Meanwhile, the two eldest men were eyeing Isaka-san with interest. "What do you suggest, Ryuichiro-kun?"

Straightening, Isaka-san walked around the couch to stand in the centre of their small circle. There was twinkle in his eyes, almost mischievous, and Akihiko didn't like the look of it one bit.

"I suggest," he said, "that we simply present the public with a fabrication."

Dread coiled low in Akihiko's stomach.

"You mean," said Fuyuhiko, and leaned forwards, "we make up a lie?"

"If you want to put it that way, yeah. What harm could it do?" Standing with his hands in his suit pockets with no qualms whatsoever, Isaka-san looked from Fuyuhiko to Yamato with a crooked smile. "Nobody has to know you two were even involved. We can tell everyone that Akihiko and Sakae-san are madly in love, and that they've known each other for years- Childhood sweethearts, or whatever. The fans will lap it up.

"All Akihiko has to do is put those award-winning storytelling skills of his to use," he said, grinning at the novelist.

Horrified, Akihiko stared back. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. Marrying her out of convenience was one thing, but pretending to be in _love_ with this cold stranger he'd only just met? Faking some kind of real-life romance story, all for the sake of bumping up the reputation of these three sleazebags? No. Absolutely not. He couldn't- scratch that, he _wouldn't_.

 _But what will father do to Misaki if you don't?_

Akihiko gripped the armrest so hard it was a wonder the ancient fabric didn't tear. He glanced at Sakae to see if she was as disgusted as he was, but her face remained a mask of indifference. Their fathers looked intrigued.

"And how do you propose Akihiko does this, Ryuichiro-kun?" Fuyuhiko asked. "During an interview?"

"At a party," Isaka-san replied. "Marukawa happens to be hosting one this weekend- One of our authors was just awarded the Yomiuri prize, you see. Over a hundred highly reputable guests attending, and nearly all of them are sure to be fans of Akihiko.

"I was thinking, Yamato-san, that you and your daughter could grace the occasion with your presence too," he said, and nodded at Fuyuhiko. "And you, of course, Usami-san. Once everyone's arrived, we can have Akihiko make a quick speech, invite Sakae-san up on stage, and reveal his passionate, whirlwind romance with her to the guests." He chuckled. "Then, he can announce the engagement. It'll go down a treat."

Of its own accord, Akihiko's head began shaking itself from side to side. "No."

"No?" Fuyuhiko echoed sharply. The plan had excited him. Catching the dangerous, steel-grey glint in his eyes, Akihiko swallowed and tried to backpedal.

"I mean, it won't work," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. Turning to Isaka-san, he gestured to the woman beside him. "Who's going to believe I've been with her for years when she's never even been mentioned in any interviews or bios? She's not in any photographs, either- We've never been seen together once.

"Everyone will know it's sham, Isaka-san. They won't believe it." He hoped that the older man would pick up on the desperation in his eyes, the thinly veiled urgency in his voice. He was appalled that he was even having to argue about this. He knew Isaka-san could be slimy, but he never thought he'd stoop _this_ low.

The director, however, just waved a dismissive hand. "Sure they will. They'll swallow anything we feed them, as long as it's coated with sugar."

This earned him a snigger from each of the other gentlemen, and Yamato doffed his third glass of scotch in direction. "I like the way you think, Ryuichiro-kun. This plan of yours… With a little acting from Akihiko-kun and Sakae, it just might work."

"I'm surprised I didn't think of it myself," Fuyuhiko remarked.

Akihiko's chest was tight now, and his muscles were starting to freeze. His nails scraped the armrest. "This is _ridiculous_ …"

" _Akihiko."_

When he looked up, everyone was staring at him; Yamato's feathery eyebrows had pulled towards his receding hairline. As for Fuyuhiko, he was all but glaring. Akihiko looked into his father's eyes for several long moments, and read quite clearly the message they contained.

 _Do_ not _ruin this for me. You want me to leave you and Takahashi in peace? Then you do exactly what I want you to. You have to do this, Akihiko._

His heart was still hammering in protest. But Akihiko released a breath. Making him lose his temper was just another way for his father to control him.

"Forgive me," he ground out, showing both of their guests the most pleasant expression he could muster, "but it won't work. The whole story is just too unconvincing. I'm a writer, I would know, wouldn't I?"

He couldn't do it. He couldn't turn his entire life into a lie. If only there were some way of protecting Misaki-

 _Misaki_. Akihiko's already heavy heart sank. If he went along with this insanity- if he climbed up on that stage and told a hundred people how much he loved this stranger sitting beside him- the thought of what the true object of his affections would think of him was almost too much to bear.

"It won't work," he said again. What else could he say?

Fuyuhiko leaned back in his seat. He was composed now; everything was under his thumb once again. The triumphant half-smirk returned to him as he eyed his son silently for a few moments, tapping his fingers together.

Akihiko never thought such a simple action could look so menacing.

"Perhaps you have a point, Akihiko," Fuyuhiko said, only arousing even more trepidation within Akihiko. "If Ryuichiro-kun's idea is to work, we _do_ need to make it convincing… but there's no need to fret. There are many ways of doing so.

"Many ways, indeed…" Surveying the circle of faces around him- the self-satisfied sneers of Yamato and Isaka-san, the quietly simmering rage behind Akihiko's amethyst irises, the perpetual blankness of Sakae's- his lips peeled away from his teeth. "Any suggestions?"

* * *

That was how they came up with the photo-shoot. It was the perfect way, they said, to make everyone believe the story they'd put together. With the help of a green screen, some state-of-the art cameras and a team of professional photographers, Yamato, Isaka-san and Fuyuhiko planned to craft a whole selection of fake images of the two sweethearts, documenting the intense and long-standing romance they'd kept hidden from the public for so long. They had everything figured out; they'd revised their tale of love over and over, filling in any plot holes and ironing out all the bugs. The story intertwined seamlessly with each of the lovers' lives. They would tell it via the photographs at Isaka-san's party, in a neat little slideshow. Irrefutable evidence for anyone who dared disbelieve them. It was an ingenious plan, they kept saying. Brilliant. Flawless.

"Wouldn't you agree, Akihiko?" Fuyuhiko had asked when he'd responded to these assertions with only silence.

"It… It just seems so deceitful," he'd answered haltingly.

Everyone had chortled at that (apart from Sakae), and Fuyuhiko had shaken his head, as if his son were the same naïve, ignorant boy he had been many, many years ago.

"Those romance novels of yours are clouding your judgement, Akihiko," he'd said. "What's a little dishonesty in the name of prosperity, after all?"

Only three glasses had clinked this time. "Here, here."

Akihiko shuddered inwardly at the memory. It was so wrong. He didn't know how he'd ever agreed to it, but he must have, because here he was, standing in front of a sheet of heavy green fabric and surrounded by flashing cameras, pretending to be posing next to the Eifel Tower or something with Sakae Yamato, and it was so grossly, hideously _wrong_ , but Akihiko was doing it, because…

Well, because what else could possibly be done at this point?

And so he stood there under the lights, sweating through his suit, letting the camera people toy around with him and Sakae as much as they needed to as they faked picture after picture after picture. They'd done eating ice-cream in swimsuits and sunglasses. They'd done holding hands- her hands were cold, like his- under the moonlight. They'd done building a snowman, wrapped in woolly scarves and coats indoors in the middle of June. Apparently, someone was even going to photoshop pictures of them as teenagers together so it looked like they had a high school romance. The photographers posed them carefully, painstakingly, bending their limbs this way and that and dressing them up like dolls.

That was it, Akihiko thought as more instructions were shouted. People scurried around, angling the lights and re-positioning the cameras. That was what Sakae reminded him off, with her painted, porcelain face and unblinking eyes and her red, berry-like lips that never spoke. She was like a doll.

They were onto the final photos now (thank God), the finale to their little play. This one would be the last picture to be shown to Isaka-san's guests. The big reveal.

Someone ran over and began adjusting them. Sakae was handed an enormous bunch of flowers, bursting with colour but without fragrance because they were plastic. She stood; Akihiko was pushed onto one knee. He didn't argue. It was muggy and his bones were heavy. He wanted to go home.

Someone handed him a little velvet box. A shiver ran through him as he took it; he hated the feel of velvet, always had. Still, he opened it obediently, held it up towards Sakae. There was a band of silver inside- also plastic. The cameras crowded in, round and staring, eager to capture their simulated joy, and someone shouted 'Smile!', and Akihiko's head started spinning dangerously.

What had become of him? Was this what he'd been reduced to? What the hell was he doing? Why?

 _Why?_ He didn't even know anymore. In fact, the more he thought about it as he knelt there, bathed in the cameras' flashes, hearing the shutters snap like gunshots, watching his and his fiancée's shadows stretch across the white floor with every burst of light, the less it seemed to matter. This didn't even feel real. Maybe it wasn't. Was he dreaming, perhaps?

To be sure, he lifted his head to look at Sakae's face. What he saw was not something out of a dream, but a nightmare. The corners of her red mouth were tweaked upwards, the smile stiff and frozen and false, and her eyes were empty. She seemed suspended by a thousand invisible threads. Akihiko corrected himself; she wasn't a doll. She was a puppet. They both were.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading. I'm not sure about these chapters, but hopefully they weren't too bad. Sorry for any typos/errors I might have missed- I'm a bit worn out and I have to get up for school tomorrow. T-T**

 **I know I say this nearly every update, but I just want to quickly thank everyone for all your lovely comments (especially you, Suzuki-san- nice to have you back :3) because they always cheer me up when I'm down. You guys might not realise it, but I know all of you by name and I appreciate every single one of your reviews, follows and favourites. :)**

 **See you all next time~**


	44. Chapter 44

**I _hate_ how long it's taking me to update now. :( I'm sorry for yet another long wait. The good news is I have two long chapters for you, nice and melodramatic.**

 **In fact, so much has been going on lately that the one year anniversary of 'Mistakes' had come and gone before I knew it! (I would have liked to post a chapter on the actual day, but between school, applying to unis, Christmas shopping, family matters and that glorious anime about homoerotic ice skating that's been taking over my life, it simply wasn't possible.) But still, wow... A whole year of torturing you guys. XD To everyone who's taken a chance on this story since, thank you for putting up with my angst for so long, and for all the support. :)**

 **Before the chapter, I'd just like to respond to a guest review I got a while ago, because of course I couldn't respond personally but the question seemed quite important. So, to the first guest reviewer on November 7th: No, I didn't forget that Akihiko's penname is a secret (even I'm not that scatter-brained XD). The party is not for 'Fujimoto-sensei' but for another author called Nakajima-sensei (this was mentioned before, but it was a while ago). Akihiko is going to be there as an important guest, but he won't be revealing his penname or anything. As for Isaka-san, he's just using the party as an excuse to stage a publicity stunt.**

 **I hope the above clears things up. Apologies if the last couple of chapters confused anyone else. I didn't much like them, truth be told. Hopefully these two will be better!**

* * *

The beer stains were gone. Ijuuin's couch smelled of laundromat detergent, clean and innocent. Nevertheless, as Misaki sat there in the living room beside his boss (they each had red markers tucked behind their ears, slowly leafing through a new _The Kan_ storyboard) he couldn't shake the feeling that Kirishima-san, somehow, _knew_ something.

They were working in silence, aside from the odd papery rustle as Misaki was handed a page for polishing. Though the room was cheery and bright with sunlight, Kirishima-san's usually relaxed face seemed to have hardened considerably. They barely made eye contact, even when exchanging their thoughts on the storyboard, and the older man was nowhere near as chatty as usual. True, he was most likely just stressed out because of hell week, but… to Misaki, it felt awkward.

 _Could he have found out?_ It wasn't too implausible. Ever since _that_ morning- just thinking about it made Misaki's cheeks feel scorched clean- he'd been having flashbacks of all those fans at the premier the night before, whispering and snapping photos. Misaki hadn't seen any pictures online, but that didn't mean one hadn't somehow found its way to his boss. Maybe Ijuuin had already told him…

He hoped not. God help them both if anyone knew what they'd done.

An unpleasant sensation crept over Misaki's skin; he felt like it was crawling with spiders. He couldn't tell if he was imagining the awkwardness or not, but he doubted he'd feel any more at ease even without Kirishima-san's presence. Sitting there on Ijuuin's couch, in the exact spot where he… Down the hall from where they… He couldn't even finish it inside his head.

He glanced over at Kirishima-san, scribbling on Ijuuin's storyboard with the corners of his mouth tilted downwards. Whether he knew or not, Misaki simply couldn't say- but he _felt_ like it was written all over him.

Slipping the marker back behind his ear, the younger man quietly cleared his throat. He couldn't take this suffocating silence anymore. "Um, Kirishima-san?"

His boss raised his eyebrows, but didn't look up. "Yeah?"

"Uh, how's the storyboard? Do you think we'll be able to submit the manuscript on time?"

Uncharacteristically, Kirishima-san frowned and huffed.

"The first half is fine, but it's gotten really half-assed towards the end," he said, and added in a slight mutter so as not to be heard, "I bet he slacked off on premier day and then rushed it afterwards. Probably why he asked us not to disturb him- doesn't want me telling him to redo it."

Misaki made a vague sound of agreement, feeling his stomach knot. The mangaka himself had been holed up in his studio since they'd arrived; he'd texted Kirishima-san beforehand saying he was in a tough spot with the manuscript and needed to be left in peace. The storyboard had been left in a neat pile on the coffee table. Misaki hadn't seen or heard from him at all. It wasn't exactly a mystery why.

It was also not very hard to guess why the last half of the storyboard had fallen flat. The past couple of days, Misaki had found himself putting minimal effort into his own work, too. His mind had been elsewhere.

… Like Ijuuin's bedroom. Tepid hands, sliding all over his body. Teeth at his neck. The spiders multiplied.

 _Nii-chan, what do I do?_ Misaki thought, shaking off the imaginary arachnids. He was so… creeped out, if that was the right way to word it. No so much by what they'd done together- that was humiliating, shameful, even, but not necessarily creepy- but by his realisation the other day, when he'd been writing his letter. He'd almost been sick again once he understood. Had Ijuuin been just as far gone as Misaki, then he wouldn't for a second have held it against him, but now… He didn't even know what to think.

 _He knew what we were doing… And he knew that I_ didn't _know._ Did this mean his very own idol had…? No. No. Misaki's brain wouldn't process it.

Still, his skin continued to prickle horribly as he tried not to think about it.

More minutes ticked by as they worked, neither boss nor subordinate saying a word. It was a blur to Misaki; the storyboard barely registered in his mind. His notes weren't even close to the usual level of detail. They were curt and blunt: change this, add this, lose that. Anything more felt too intimate. Perhaps it was silly of Misaki to feel that way- he was Ijuuin's editor, it was his _job_ , for crying out loud- but if it helped create the illusion of distance between him and the man down the hall, then so be it.

In fact, even though he knew he was safely behind the door of his studio, Misaki felt like Ijuuin was there now, behind him. His hot breath creeping down his neck.

Shifty, green eyes glanced for the umpteenth time up at the doorway; he kept expecting it to open at any moment. For him to walk in and be right there in front of Misaki, who wouldn't be able to run. It was making him so nervous that his spine was stretched taut and his shoulders locked- so when Kirishima-san spoke, suddenly and startlingly, Misaki very nearly shattered.

"Takahashi."

Misaki had to gulp away something thick before he could answer. "Y-yes, sir?"

Without looking up from the storyboard, Kirishima-san crossed one leg over the other. He was neither smiling nor frowning. "You went home with Kyo after the premier, didn't you?"

 _Ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump._ "Um… How did you know, Kirishima-san?"

"I saw a photo of you two on the internet. You were getting into a car together." At last, he lifted his eyes to Misaki, the marker pausing in his hand. His gaze made the younger man feel uncomfortably exposed, like he was caught in a searchlight. He tried not to look away.

"Yeah?"

"I don't mean to pry, but did anything happen?"

"Happen?" he echoed quickly- too quickly. _Careful, or he'll guess._ The sun was very bright. Could Kirishima-san perhaps see one of the bruises on Misaki's neck? He couldn't risk looking down to check, but he ran through a speedy replay of this morning's hour in the bathroom, trying to remember if he'd used enough concealer. "Uh, what do you mean?"

Kirishima-san shrugged. "Kyo's been acting a little odd since that evening," he said. "I was just wondering if you guys had a fight or something."

Was it Misaki, or did he hesitate a moment before saying 'something'?

"No… Nothing happened," he said carefully- not too insistent. "We just had a few drinks to celebrate, that's all. A-and then I crashed here because there were no trains. But nothing happened."

 _ **Liar.**_

Seeming to sense his discomfort (not that Misaki was doing a very good job of hiding it), Kirishima-san offered him a reassuring half-smile. "I'm not accusing you of anything, Takahashi," he said. "I was just wondering. But…"

"But?"

The older editor paused, considering his words. "It's just that," he eventually replied, "in future- this is for your own sake, mind- you might want to think twice about being too, uh, friendly with Kyo in public. Especially if there are lots fans and reporters and people like that about.

"You see, since he's gotten to be popular, the media tends to make a bit of spectacle of him," he explained, somewhat awkwardly. "Even if you were just having drinks as friends, well… people have ways of making things look like more than they are, if you know what I mean."

Misaki did know. He knew exactly what he meant, only in this case, they _weren't_ making it look like more than it was because that _was_ what it was, but he didn't dare speak the truth, so instead he started gabbling, "I-I do understand, Kirishima-san, and I'm sorry, but we really didn't-"

"You didn't do anything wrong, Takahashi," Kirishima-san cut in, seeing the obvious panic in the younger man's face. "Just… be careful. That's all."

Realising that his heart was now beating so rapidly that Kirishima-san could probably hear it, Misaki forced himself to relax his shoulders. "Right. Okay, sure."

His boss, however, still did not look away, and as he fought not to squirm, Misaki wondered briefly if this was what all the famous Ijuuins and Usamis of the world had to put up with all the time: feeling constantly scrutinised, having to watch their every move, always hiding behind a careful façade. It was an odd thought that left his head as quickly as it entered it.

"Are you sure nothing happened while you were here?" Kirishima-san asked. There was nothing sharp or threatening in his voice; he was merely inquisitive. "Nothing that might have made Kyo…?"

He didn't finish. There was a heavy quiet; a rhythm of incessant drip-drip-drips from the leaky kitchen tap was the only sound. Misaki- heart still thudding- kept his gaze steadily trained on the older man's questioning eyes. They were calm, friendly, comforting; almost as if he were consciously trying to make Misaki feel like he could confide in him, lulling him into carelessness, waiting for his tongue to slip…

Or maybe Misaki was just overthinking it. He was doing that a lot these days.

"No, sir," he answered slowly. "Nothing at all."

Kirishima-san nodded once. "Alright."

The hands of the clock ticked to twelve. Directly behind Misaki, right in the centre of the living room's large window, the midsummer sun was now burning high in a cloudless sky. He could feel it against his back, hot and harsh. For the first time that day, Misaki noticed he was sweating a little. Kirishima-san noticed, too.

"You okay, Takahashi? You look a bit warm."

"I'm fine, thanks."

"You sure?" asked his boss. He nodded at Misaki's thick, hooded sweatshirt. "Maybe you should take that off. It is July, after all."

The bite marks covering Misaki's body started to burn, and he gripped the garment around himself instinctively. "Um… No thanks, Kirishima-san. I'm actually kind of chilly…"

Another uncomfortable pause. Again, it could have been Misaki's overactive imagination, but he could have sworn he saw those golden, hawk-like eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Eventually, though, Kirishima-san simply popped the lid off his marker and went back to work.

"If you say so."

He didn't know. But he suspected.

The knot in Misaki's stomach tightened, and the heat of the sun bullied at his back as he too tried to focus on the storyboard. It was starting to make him dizzy. He wished he _could_ take off the stupid sweatshirt, so he didn't roast to death or worse, pass out again. Kirishima-san already had an inkling; if Misaki actually fainted from the pressure, it was sure to be a dead giveaway (not to mention totally mortifying).

Uncapping his marker, the editor glared determinedly down at the storyboard. He had to think about something else, or he'd just make it even more obvious. More importantly, he had to get this storyboard finished… but, it was impossible. Whenever Misaki brought the tip of the pen to the page, it was as if his brain ran into some sort of block. It refused to make any sense of the words and pictures; Misaki stared at them- meaningless shapes and lines- for fifteen minutes straight and still didn't know what they said. He sighed silently, his hand slackening around the pen.

It had been this way for two days straight now.

The memories hadn't once left him alone. Over the past few days, they'd congealed into a confusing mess that seemed to infest every corner of Misaki's head like some kind of persistent mould. They gummed up the gears of his mind and brought all other thoughts to a grinding halt. His stream of consciousness was interrupted constantly by muddled flashes from that night; even now, as he sat safely on the sofa beside his boss, Misaki found himself being dragged inexorably back there again. Back down the hall and into the bedroom.

Sensations and sounds. Hazy images. Echoed voices- his cries, _their_ cries. Pleasure… Pain… A lonely, longing ache in Misaki's chest. Scalding tears on his cheeks. And other kinds of pain, of course. Fingernails raking his back and teeth sinking into him. Ijuuin moving roughly against him, on him, _in_ him…

The red marker slipped from his fingers, clacking against the floorboards. Kirishima-san looked up again, surprised, as Misaki rose abruptly to his feet.

"Where are you going?"

"Bathroom," Misaki replied, and walked out.

Now he really was back in the hallway again, and his crawling skin and twisting stomach grew worse than ever. He passed the door to Ijuuin's room without looking at it, opened the one opposite, closed it behind him and leant against it, releasing a strained burst of breath. A faint whiff of Ijuuin's cologne lingered in the bathroom. The beginnings of a headache stirred behind Misaki's eyes. He covered them with his hands, shielding them from the harsh gleam of the sun against the pale blue tiles.

 _I can't…_ What had he done, and why did he do it? _Why did_ he _do it?_

Three loud knocks behind his head made him jerk away from the door. "Takahashi? Are you sick or something?"

 _Yes. Sick, sick, sick._ "A… A little."

"Do you need to go home?"

 _Yes._ "No."

"Alright. Well," said Kirishima-san through the thin wood, "I just had a text saying I need to get back to the office. Can you finish the storyboard by yourself?"

 _No no no, don't leave, I can't be alone here, please._ "Sure."

"Thanks, Takahashi. Oh, also, make sure you're free Friday, because Isaka-san wants us to go to Nakajima-sensei's party with Kyo."

 _Fuck._ "Awesome."

"Sure you're okay?"

 _No._ "Yep."

"Okay, then. See you tomorrow. Thanks for the hard work."

His footsteps faded away down the hall. After the muffled sound of the front door closing, everything became so silent that even Misaki's thoughts seemed unbearably loud. It was as if the entire apartment was holding its breath.

Misaki wanted to hold his breath, too; to just _stop_. After a few moments, he sank to the floor, folding into himself, pressing his knees into his eye sockets. Maybe if he made himself as small as he could, he'd disappear and nothing would matter anymore.

 _ **You're being pathetic.**_

… _Yes, I am._ Despite his body's protests, he unfurled, pulling himself up on the sink. He'd never learn to face the consequences of his mistakes all shrivelled up on a bathroom floor. As he splashed his face with cold water, Misaki couldn't help but wonder what Usagi-san would think if he could see him now. Would he be smirking with triumph at Misaki's comeuppance? Sneering in disgust? Or simply shaking his silver head sadly at the hypocrisy?

A stab of remorse knifed Misaki's heart, and he braced his hands against the side of the sink, staring into dark, dirty depths of the plughole.

 _I was so awful to him_ , he thought, water rolling off his face in rivulets. _And I screwed around with sensei, and then I lied to my boss…_

Lifting his head, Misaki stared at his still dripping face in the oval mirror. It was mounted on the door of Ijuuin's white-painted medicine cabinet, and so clear and untouched Misaki felt as though he could reach right through and touch his reflection, not a 2-D image but a living, breathing being. He tried, but his fingertips met only the cool surface of the glass.

The reflection frowned at him. _My God. I've become everything I hate._

A hypocrite, a liar, and a pathetic asshole to boot. That was what he was. He shook his head and the reflection copied him, still frowning. Light from the small bathroom window lit up the left half of his face, and he realised he'd washed away the concealer on his cheek, exposing the nasty, yellowy-brown remnants of his bruise. Checking himself over, Misaki saw that some of the make-up on his neck had also begun to rub off against the hem of his sweatshirt; the bite just below his jaw (the worst of them all) was showing through, purplish teeth marks grinning against his pale skin.

Misaki grimaced at himself, cursing under his breath. He hadn't brought his concealer stick. The headache began to amplify, too much blood thrumming painfully through his temples. He rubbed them with one hand, reaching for the medicine cabinet with the other. Maybe Ijuuin had some painkillers in there- and possibly (though the chances were slim) something Misaki could fashion into makeshift concealer for the marks. He'd feel unbearably self-conscious if he had to journey home with such unsightly blemishes on display.

 _I guess I could wear a scarf, but on a day like this that'd probably make me look even weirder…_ He twisted the handle on the cupboard door, but it wouldn't give; noticing a tiny keyhole (who locked up their medicine?) he tutted irritably, scanning the bathroom for its component. _If only I could just turn myself invisible._

Yes, that would be rather nice, he thought as he quickly spotted the little silver key sitting in the corner of the windowsill. To just hide himself and his shame away from the world. Remove all trace of himself.

The key left smudges of dust on his fingers when he lifted it from the grimy sill; clearly, Ijuuin didn't use the cabinet very often. The chances of him finding anything useful in there were shrinking fast. Meanwhile, the familiar voice began to jeer. _**It would be nice, wouldn't it? The world could do without a disgusting person like you, anyway. You should be ashamed to even show your face.**_

But he banished the voice away with a shake of his head, sticking the key angrily into the lock. This was bad. He shouldn't be thinking this way; what good would come of simply sweeping himself under a rug?

… Actually, now that Misaki thought about it, hadn't he already been half doing that for years? Those little, shameful parts of him- the parts that were attracted to men, or that wanted to be a little mean or needy or selfish sometimes- had been tightly locked away out of terror, only emerging at the rarest of moments… _or_ when he was in the arms of Usagi-san, he noted grudgingly. But he'd taken pains to hide them from everyone else.

And he was sick of it. It dawned on him suddenly as he gave the key a single turn, reaching once again for the handle. It was horrible. All this covering-up and lying and pretending and-

He opened the medicine cabinet, and was startled by a cacophonous series of crackles as a cascade of paper poured suddenly forth, collapsing into the basin in a huge heap.

For a moment or two, Misaki simply stood there with his hand still on the cupboard door, wide-eyed. Sheets of A4 fluttered around the bathroom like trapped birds. Looking down at the enormous pile of paper that was now dampening in the sink, Misaki blinked in utter bafflement.

"What the…?"

Why on earth did Ijuuin-sensei have a stack of paper in his medicine cabinet? As the last of the white sheets drifted to the floor, Misaki grabbed one from the sink and held it up to his face. Unbelievably, it was covered in shabbily pencilled manga sketches- rough and unpolished- and crisscrossed with scribbled, red arrows and notes. A storyboard? In his _bathroom_?

The first thought that came to Misaki's mind was: _he's lost it_. This was the kind of thing crazy people in movies did. The mangaka had been so worn-down, so overwhelmed with his stagnant, monotonous routine of draw-draft-ink-tone-repeat that he'd cracked, and was now ceasing to function. Would Misaki also find a pile of laundry in the fridge, or ineligible scrawls covering the walls, or Ijuuin's car parked halfway through a wall, or something?

However, as he peered at the storyboard more closely, Misaki's brow creased. He recognised what volume this (as well as the other pages) was from, and it was one that had been published at least three months ago- Probably longer than that, actually, because the red handwriting wasn't even Misaki's, so they must have been drawn before he was even working on _The Kan_. Ijuuin had no use for these drafts anymore; shouldn't he have long since gotten rid of them? And why had they just been stuffed in his bathroom cupboard? It was almost as if he were trying to hide them, but why would he…?

He'd been holding the page just inches from his face, squinting in confusion- but now Misaki drew back slowly, his features utterly blank.

 _This is…_

The flat was still silent; so silent, in fact, that as Misaki stood still in the middle of the bathroom, he could hear the steady drips from the kitchen tap, the ticking of the clock all the way in the living room. Even the summer cicadas far below were audible through the window. And as Misaki continued to stare at the page in his hand, they seemed to get louder. So did the clock, and the tap, and the aching pulse of blood through Misaki's head. His ears began to roar.

Calmly, he lowered the page. "Ijuuin-sensei?"

He didn't shout it, but it was jarringly loud in the heavy stillness. No sound came from down the hallway, and for a moment Misaki thought the mangaka was ignoring him. But then,

"Yes?"

"Could you come here for a minute, please?"


	45. Chapter 45

Silence again. Then the scrape of an artist's stool against the studio floorboards, and approaching footsteps in the hall. They fell in perfect synch with Misaki's heartbeat; both grew louder the closer he came.

Even as the door squeaked open, Misaki couldn't make himself turn around right away. The shadow that fell across the sun-drenched tiles made his hairs stand on end- as did the voice that followed.

"Misaki?" it said. It was unsettling, hearing it again; the voice that had groaned that same name out in ecstasy, whispered liquid words into Misaki's ear. "Are you-"

He cut himself abruptly off, and Misaki heard his breath catch. When he at last forced himself to turn around- to face him- the other man was standing half-in, half out of the doorway. He was surveying the bathroom as though it were a crime scene and he were the perpetrator; blue eyes took in, with mounting horror, the paper scattered over the tiles like it was spilled blood. Misaki watched him, waiting, and when their eyes locked Ijuuin's were large and guilt-stricken- the eyes of a criminal, caught in the act.

The silence hanging over the room thickened as they looked at each other. Ijuuin opened his mouth as if to defend himself, but whatever words he had prepared didn't make it past his lips. His hands and shoulders slackened.

"Shit," he eventually managed. As Misaki continued to stare, demanding an explanation, he added weakly, "I'd forgotten that was in there."

"What is it?" asked Misaki, even though he knew.

Clearly, Ijuuin also knew that he knew, but he grasped at the straw anyway, rubbing the back of his neck in an awkward manner that was quite unlike him. "Um. Old storyboards."

"And spreadsheets, and reports?"

"Yeah."

"And…" said Misaki, arching an eyebrow, "you're keeping them in the bathroom?"

This time, Ijuuin didn't even bother to answer. He dropped his eyes. Though he tried to keep his own face composed, the sound of tearing paper as Misaki's fingers dug into the page he was holding betrayed whatever was bubbling up inside him.

"Are these Shizuku's?" he asked, as evenly as he was able.

When he again received no answer (well, that wasn't strictly true; Ijuuin's silence was a good enough answer), Misaki felt some part of him, deep within, quietly snap. He slapped the piece of paper in his hand down onto the bathroom counter, shaking his head in grim comprehension.

"Un-fucking-believable."

"Misaki, I… Oh, fuck, I knew you'd be mad." Aware that he was well and truly busted, Ijuuin made no move to make up any excuse. He dragged one hand across his slightly stubbled face, gesturing helplessly at the evidence. "That's why I…

"Dammit, I was going to get rid of them and everything!" he growled suddenly. He wasn't trying to defend himself; if anything, he simply seemed angry at himself for being found out. "But then you showed up on my doorstep out of the blue, and I just… shoved them the first place I could think of. I'd forgotten all about them, _dammit_ …."

The furrow between Misaki's eyebrows deepened. Of all the things that were fucked up about this, Ijuuin was scrambling to explain his choice of hiding place?

"Never mind all _that_ ," he said. He didn't really need to ask, but he did anyway. "Why do you have Shizuku's work in the first place?"

He had to grind the question out. His small frame was shaking, wracked with tremors of barely suppressed fury- though it wasn't only the scattered paper that was causing it. Yes, he was angry on Shizuku's behalf, but as he looked at Ijuuin's guilty eyes, Misaki remembered again how they had looked when they had gazed upon him at his most vulnerable: predatory, devouring him hungrily, greedily. Those hands, which had intruded over every inch of his body. It didn't matter how infinitely tender their touch had been; they had crossed bounds they knew were forbidden.

That in itself was painful enough for Misaki. But now there was _this_ \- this bombshell in the form of a wet pile of paper, unceremoniously dumped in front of Misaki just when he thought things were as bad as they could get. It was ridiculous.

Not just ridiculous, in fact- it was _embarrassing_. It had certainly shaken off Ijuuin's previously unshakable coolness; now, he looked somewhat akin to a mortified teenager whose mom had discovered the porno magazines underneath his bed. He shifted his feet, not meeting Misaki eyes, and the action sent a fresh, welcome fire of rage blazing through the younger man.

"So, this was your little plan, was it?" he said, when it was clear Ijuuin wasn't going to say anything. "Shizuku told me there was someone stealing from him, but I wasn't even sure if I believed him. But, you- You got him demoted on _purpose_?"

He didn't want to believe it, but after premier night, he did.

Ijuuin pinched the bridge of his nose. His eyes were scrunched tightly shut, as if he had a headache. "I… I did it for you."

A hysterical bark that was supposed to be a laugh fell from Misaki's tongue.

"For _me_. Oh my God, I should have known. Was it you who leaked the info about the movie, too?"

"Misaki, let me explain!"

"There's nothing to explain," Misaki hissed. He grabbed one of the pages and waved it once; it cracked like a whip, the sound crisp against the porcelain tiles. "This is not okay, Ijuuin-sensei. It's totally sly."

"But, I…" Ijuuin's eyes were round and glassy as he floundered. Coupled with his crumpled, stained 'deadline' clothes and his quivering lips, it was somehow pathetic. At last, he asked, "Didn't you always want to work with me?"

"Of course, but not this way," said Misaki, astounded that he even had to explain this. "Not at someone else's expense."

He spread his hands out at the mess of paper to emphasise his point. Shizuku's hard work, strewn, discarded. Wasted. Ijuuin's ocean-like eyes swept over the stolen storyboard, glistening, and for a second, he actually appeared remorseful. But he looked up at Misaki once again, and his mouth hardened into a straight, determined line. The younger man knew then that Ijuuin wouldn't lose his respect without a fight.

"You're the only person who matters to me."

"Don't give me that bullshit," Misaki said. Or maybe he shouted it. He wasn't sure; his head was pounding now, the muscles in his face drawn and tense with pain. Grimacing, he massaged his scalp with one hand, mussing his hair. "Sensei, don't you see how… I mean, how could you treat someone like that? Someone who looks up to you so much, and worked so hard for you…"

In Misaki's head, another memory joined the whirlwind. It was one of Shizuku, scurrying to bring Ijuuin a cup of coffee on a busy day in the _Japun_ office. The mangaka had taken it without even looking at him. Just a fleeting glimpse of a memory, one that had barely registered or resurfaced in Misaki's mind since it occurred, it had seemed so unimportant. But now that he actually thought about it, he realised how rarely Ijuuin had ever spared his former editor, however devoted, a passing glance. And in turn, how rarely Shizuku's dark eyes had ever strayed from his sensei, filled with a silent longing that went forever unheeded.

Misaki- who was usually the first to pick up on these kinds of things- was surprised at how little notice he'd paid this until now. Even on the day he replaced Shizuku, he'd been stupid and self-absorbed enough to feel like _he_ was the one being victimised, not comprehending the hatred in his predecessor's accusing glare. He never once thought it had anything to do with Ijuuin. How had the man managed to blind him so effortlessly?

If anything, he should have recognised the agony Shizuku was enduring all too well. Betrayed by the person closest to his heart.

"It's so cruel," was his vehement conclusion. He was the one glaring now, no longer afraid to stare darkly into the depths of those blue eyes. "How could you do this to him? How _could_ you?"

The response was stony and stubborn. "I'd do anything for you, Misaki."

He snorted. "Seriously? That's your excuse?"

"Well, you'd just been so… so _gloomy_ ever since that whole ordeal with Usami!" Ijuuin said. The first notes of desperation were creeping into his voice. Throwing up his hands, he motioned pointlessly before letting them drop to his sides again. "I felt bad about putting you through that, and I only wanted to start making things right for you again. I know it wasn't exactly fair to Shizuku, but I just… I thought it would make you happy."

A few months, or even weeks ago, Misaki would have believed him without hesitation. Maybe even forgiven him. But now, yet another memory: September again. Ijuuin's face, grey and milky white under the streetlamp, smiling widely even as Misaki wept beside him.

His own hands curled slowly in on themselves.

"Oh, and I suppose that's also why you fucked me while I was drunk, is it?" he said, through an ugly, teeth-clenching grimace. His head felt like it was in a vice. "Because you thought it would make me 'happy'?"

Now it was out in the open, but saying it didn't give Misaki and sort of relief. Instead, it only added to the bitter taste in his mouth. Ijuuin visibly flinched- a muscle in his right cheek twitching- and Misaki thought he saw something flicker through his eyes. He couldn't have said exactly what.

"Yes," Ijuuin replied, in a slightly strained voice. "I thought you wanted it."

Misaki exploded at this. " _Wanted it_? You thought I _wanted_ it?" he cried, almost hysterical with disbelief. Despite himself, he took a heavy step forwards, shoulders squared. "Sensei, I was barely even conscious! How could I have possibly wanted it?"

The hands that had touched Misaki were clenched now, matching his own. "You said it was okay!"

"No," said Misaki. "I didn't."

"Well, you didn't say _no_." Agitated, Ijuuin began pacing back and forth as much as the confines of the small bathroom would allow. Soon, though, he whirled back on his editor. "You can't just blame this on me, Misaki. And anyway, you're the one who just walked out on me the morning after without a word!"

Misaki raised his eyebrows, and Ijuuin went on, "You didn't even answer my calls. Do you have any idea what that was like for me?"

There was real, genuine hurt in his voice, and Misaki knew this was the part where he usually crumbled. He waited to feel guilty all over again, for everything to twist in his mind so that it was all actually _his_ fault, and for the apologies and admittances that he was wrong to come tumbling out of his mouth to Ijuuin's feet.

He waited for the break- but it didn't come. Instead, in a sensation that surprised (and, in a weird way, emboldened) Misaki, he felt his anger seethe and swell, until he was practically stewing in it. It swamped all the nagging little thoughts that told him to give in, and he let it.

No, he thought, Ijuuin was _not_ going to blind him again.

"I know I'm not innocent in this, Ijuuin-sensei," he said, his voice trembling with indignation. He recognised this feeling; it was the same thing he'd felt on the night he broke up with Usagi-san. In that confused, angry, heartbroken moment, he'd refused to listen to the man he loved and uttered the words that had brought everything crashing down around them both. The one time he'd chosen to hold his ground, and it had been the wrong time. Now he was picking the right time. His voice rose to a shout. "But I trusted you as a friend, and you took advantage of me!"

"I didn't-"

"Yes, you did," Misaki cut in. "I was drunk, and you weren't. I _know_ you weren't, so don't try and lie to me about it," he said when Ijuuin opened his mouth. "And I know I was an idiot to get drunk in the first place, but still, you had no fucking right, sensei! Especially since you knew exactly what was going on."

He couldn't help the small crack in his voice at the last bit. It hurt to be saying this. In spite of all his anger, part of Misaki still grieved for the loss of yet another loved one. He'd already had to endure so many connections and bonds of trust crumpling like paper, never to be quite perfect again. He didn't want to sully his friendship with his sensei, too- But then, hadn't Ijuuin already done that for him?

Some of the distress possessing the mangaka seemed to have stilled. He'd drawn himself back into that sullen, icy stance- the one he hardly ever revealed to Misaki. His shoulders rose and fell.

"Fine, I did know," he said flatly. "But I wasn't trying to take advantage of you."

"Oh, really? Then what-"

"Don't you remember what you were saying, before it all?"

The question threw Misaki off; at first, he wasn't even sure what Ijuuin meant. Dark blue eyes narrowed above him, and all of a sudden the old Ijuuin was back, banishing any trace of the limp, puppy-eyed Ijuuin of just minutes ago, and Misaki was afraid again. He swallowed.

"I'm not the only one who's been lying, Misaki," Ijuuin said. He waited purposely for a moment or two before continuing. "You're not over him at all."

Even though Misaki had known it was coming, the words still pierced him like arrows.

"You were crying, Misaki." As he folded his arms, Misaki could see the tendons standing out in Ijuuin's bare arms. He suddenly seemed a lot taller now. "You were crying over _him_. Even after everything he did to you. You looked so, so, heartbroken, and it was all for that lying, cheating Usami bastard, and I couldn't stand it. I just wanted to make it stop. So I-"

"That's not an excuse," Misaki snapped. His voice was low. He could feel his shoulders shaking, beyond his control. "And stop saying those things about him."

At that, Ijuuin heaved his eyes to the ceiling and waved a hand, sending a few stray sheets of paper fluttering.

"And there it is again." Refusing to look at Misaki, he leaned against the doorframe. Strands of unwashed hair fell over his eyes, and with the brightness pouring through the window behind him, he was nothing but a black shape to Misaki.

"It always comes back to _him_ with you." A sapphire-blue eye swivelled to look sideways at Misaki, glinting coldly within the silhouette of his face. "You weren't there with me that night, Misaki."

Misaki stayed still. "I don't know what you're talking about," he lied.

"You said his name," said Ijuuin, very, very quietly. "Just when I thought I finally had you. You called it out loud and clear."

No answer. Ijuuin lifted his head, and this time it was the younger man avoiding his gaze.

"When are you going to open your eyes, Misaki?" he asked. "You may have walked away from him in September, but you were only pretending that night, and you have been ever since. I can see it. You never moved on from him."

He moved closer- not too close, but close enough that Misaki could smell the coffee staining his shirt and the grease in his hair (at least it wasn't the cologne). He was hard pressed not to shrink back.

Frowning, Ijuuin drew back.

"It's bad enough that you won't move on for your own sake." When Misaki dared to look up, the look his sensei was giving him teetered somewhere between anguish and contempt. "But every time I have to listen to you say his name… When you get that look in your eyes, and it's never for me… Even after all he did to you…

"It's torture, Misaki," he said. And, in doing so, he took the end of Misaki's tether in hand and ripped it clean off.

"Torture, huh?" Blinking away tears, Misaki managed to muster a bitter smile in Ijuuin's direction. _Torture. He's talking to_ me _about torture._

He grabbed a handful of Shizuku's spreadsheets. They were so damp from the sink that parts of them turned to mush in his hands. He was almost tempted to throw them, right in Ijuuin's self-pitying face. "Well, lucky for you, you won't have to endure it much longer. I doubt we'll still be working together after Kirishima-san gets a look at these."

"What?" The ring of panic in Ijuuin's tone was satisfying, though he quickly reeled it in- or at least tried to. Gathering himself, he began again, "Misaki, no. You can't tell him- You can't tell anyone."

"Why the hell shouldn't I?" said Misaki. Briefly, he looked at the papers in his hands and back up again. "This isn't right, sensei."

But Ijuuin shook his head vigorously. The whites of his eyes were visible. "Misaki, you _can't_. I know I fucked up, but you can't. I'll lose my job."

"Well, you've already pretty much ruined mine." Frost coated his voice, though Misaki was burning inside. "Eye for an eye."

"Misaki-"

"Just get back to work," said the editor, dropping his head, which felt abruptly heavy. Red was pulsing at the edges of his vision, matching each painful throb of his temples. He couldn't have this conversation anymore.

The shadow crossing his on the tiles didn't move, and Misaki- with a sudden burst of frustrated energy- kicked a cluster of storyboard pages, scattering them further out of the door and into the hallway. Ijuuin took a step backwards. " _Go_ , sensei. I don't want to see you anymore. I'm finishing today's work, and then I'm leaving and I'm not coming back again. I mean it."

The words felt harsh and foreign on his lips, but Misaki found he didn't regret them. With some effort, he raised his head to give Ijuuin one last, hard stare- leaving no room for argument- and saw that the mangaka's chest and shoulders were heaving with anger, and his face was flushed. Sweat glistened on his forehead. Misaki barely recognised him; this, he realised, was the real Kyo Ijuuin. Not the charming, charismatic dreamboat he was in interviews and magazines. Not even the drunken wreck he was during a slump. The real Ijuuin was someone else entirely, someone Misaki didn't know at all. The man standing before him- the man who had kissed him and licked him and been inside him- was a stranger.

"I was thinking of you," he said.

Misaki turned away. "You were thinking of yourself."

The heat in the room was now stifling. After a few more moments of hot, heavy silence, the bathroom door behind Misaki closed with a resounding _slam_ , jarring his head. Footsteps stamped away into Ijuuin's studio, and only after he heard the second, equally loud door-slam did Misaki release the breath he'd been holding. A sudden rush of dizziness turned his legs to jelly, and he slumped against the door, sliding slowly down onto the cold floor tiles. Sheets of storyboard swirled and settled around him. Shizuku's broken dreams.

Picking one up and studying it, Misaki took in all of his predecessor's notes- miles and miles of them, compacted politely into the margins, meticulous detail in neat, red cursive- and very nearly laughed. He'd really thought he could be Shizuku's replacement. He hadn't even suspected Ijuuin in the slightest.

The editor clamped a hand over his mouth, lest giggles really did come bubbling up and he started laughing like a maniac. This was so damn ridiculous. Ijuuin had _actually_ done this; he'd slunk around like some comically villainous cartoon character, stealing storyboards and spreadsheets and stashing them furtively in his fucking medicine cabinet. He'd torn a promising young editor's career to shreds and relished in the ruination of a loving, four-year relationship. Kyo Ijuuin, master of weird-food manga, Misaki's childhood hero, his idol, his friend, was no better than a petty, pre-pubescent girl.

And all that for a love that Misaki, no matter what, could never have given him anyway. Such a waste.

He held his head in his hands. _You were right, stupid rabbit. Just like always. You were spot-on about him from the beginning. Maybe if I'd listened to you and not him, we'd be curled up at home in our bed with all your ridiculous toys._ Such a waste. Such a fucking waste… _What I wouldn't give to go back in time, Usagi-san. To give us both another chance. To ride the Ferris wheel with you again, or watch fireworks from the balcony, or just have dinner together and laugh and bicker and…_

He stopped there because the tears were returning, burning his eyes, and dehydrating himself would make the pain in his head unbearable.

Forget turning back time; this was reality. Wishful thinking would not get Misaki out of this mess he'd created. The only thing he could do now was pick himself up and move forwards, step by step, however long and difficult and lonely the road ahead was.

Just as he was taking his own advice (using the door handle to haul himself to his feet), a loud series of thuds and crashes made him jump. He bit his lower lip. The noise had come from the studio: Ijuuin, throwing things or knocking stuff off his desk or something. He was furious.

 _ **Well, there goes another one,**_ said his inner critic heartily. _**You're really not very good at hanging on to people, are you? It's a good job Nii-chan decided to forgive you. Who are you gonna piss off next? Todo? Nee-chan?**_

"Shut up," Misaki muttered wearily. Talking to himself; now, that was a bad sign. Was he going nuts? He felt like it. His mind was falling apart at the seams.

With nothing else to distract himself with, Misaki stooped and- ignoring the sharp pain shooting through his skull- began to gather the scattered sheets. Whether he'd have the guts to actually turn them in to Kirishima-san, he wasn't sure, but he couldn't leave them in Ijuuin's hands.

His wandering hands. His puppeteer's hands.

How Misaki hated them at that moment.

Another crash sounded from the studio, and what sounded like cursing. Misaki sighed. He knew that later, when he'd had time to cool off and run this entire ordeal through his head again and again and again, his brain would find some reason to make him think that he was the one who was wrong, after all. Then the flames of fury would dwindle and the guilt would take over again and he'd be filled with regret. Such was the way in the head of Misaki Takahashi.

But for now, he would keep the flames alive for as long as he could, letting them consume him. He didn't want to not be angry with Ijuuin. He had lied to Misaki. He had taken his trust and used it, abused it. And, worst of all, he had touched him- Touched him in a way that Misaki only ever wanted to be touched by one person, and that person alone.

 _ **So much for that.**_

Catching sight of himself in the mirror again, Misaki reached up to touch the bruise on his neck, and shuddered. Even the gentlest brush of his fingers was painful, the skin there was so tender. When would it fade? For some reason it seemed like it would be there forever, like he'd been permanently defaced.

Misaki wrapped his arms around himself, shivering despite the heat. He felt angry, filthy and ashamed. So dissimilar, he thought absently, to the first time anything of this nature had happened to him.

Undoubtedly, some would say that his first 'encounter' with Usagi-san all those years ago was no different to Ijuuin's assault on him, but Misaki knew the truth of it. What the author had done to him in his sleep-ruffled state that morning had not been loving, but it hadn't been malicious, either. Rather, it had quickly become a sort of contest between them. And it had certainly not been unwelcome. Whilst Misaki would never, ever admit it out loud, he remembered quite clearly the sparks flying between the two of them like electricity as Usagi-san made that first advance on him; he'd seemed so enigmatic and so dangerous, in a way that excited rather than frightened the then-young and innocent teenager. What began as a frustrated spat between two stubborn strangers had ended in a mutual deep-seated desire that had only grew from then onwards.

Standing there in Ijuuin's bathroom, Misaki allowed himself to revisit the scene. It was one of those memories he kept tucked away, only peeking at it occasionally, like an old photograph, as if prolonged exposure would cause it to fade and dull. He recalled the warmth of that sculpted torso pressed against his back; the skilful touch of those cool hands; the shivers coursing through him in waves, unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. He remembered the ecstatic moans he'd had to bite back- not because he was intimidated or even, as he'd told himself, because he was too proud. In truth, he was simply afraid that Usagi-san would misinterpret whatever sound he might make and stop what he was doing.

Misaki wanted to wrap himself in his reminiscence. He wanted to use the memories of all those wonderful sensations to shield him from everything he was feeling now. How it had thrilled him, that first little taste he'd had of Akihiko Usami. It had been sinful and heavenly. _Nothing_ like the profound sense of shame that now plagued him, had done ever since Kyo Ijuuin had been the one to take him.

But that wasn't even the biggest difference of all. No, the biggest difference, Misaki thought to himself, was that Usagi-san- however much he had teased and Misaki had protested and denied- had known how much the boy truly wanted him. He'd been able to read Misaki like a book from day one. If Misaki hadn't wanted it, Usagi-san would have known. And _he_ would have stopped.

If _only_ Misaki had remembered that in September.

* * *

 **OOC Misaki, maybe? But one of the reasons I like to write fic for JR is because the character development in the source material is pathetic, and I thought it was high time Misaki grew a pair and stood up to Ijuuin properly. XD Also, my apologies to the Ijuuin supporters. But I think he deserves this.**

 **I went on quite a lot of tangents in this chapter (you know when you have a clear goal in mind when you're writing and then just kind of... veer off?) but I decided I quite liked the direction it went in. I hope you guys enjoyed it; I suspect from some of the reviews that some of you are getting a bit impatient. I get that this story has pretty much been forty-five chapters of solid angst, but, well... I did warn you. XD If it's any consolation, we have a _maximum_ of two chapters to go before the long-awaited climax. I will try my best to have the next chapter up as soon as possible, but I'm afraid I can't make any promises (busy point in the school year, losing confidence in my writing, dealing with various other crap... You've heard it all before). All I ask is that you guys bear with me and keep being the lovely, supportive readers you've always been. :)**

 **As always, thank you so much for reading, and please tell me your opinion in the reviews! Oh, and I hope you're all getting Christmassy- You can certainly expect a festive Romantica oneshot from me sometime soon! :D**

 **'Til next chapter!**

 **P.S. Just in case anyone gets the wrong idea, I am _not_ trying to justify that scene in episode one with that last bit of description there. I'm fully aware that what Usagi-san does in that scene is all kinds of not okay (not that that stops JR from being my biggest guilty pleasure EVER, of course XD). The last bit of this chapter is just how I imagine Misaki would feel about it. :)**


	46. Chapter 46

**Hi guys! Hope everyone had a lovely Christmas. :)**

 **We haven't seen much of Akihiko lately, so here's one last look-in before everything goes down in the next chapter. I know everyone just wants me to hurry up and get to the big finale (sorry ^^;) but I'm including this one first because it's important to the story. Hope it's worth the wait.**

* * *

Tsuyu season had arrived in Tokyo, bringing daily torrents of heavy rain along with it. Outside of Marukawa Shoten, water was currently crashing to the ground in sheets, filling the entire building with a kind of muffled, incessant roaring sound, not unlike TV static. Akihiko- staring dull-eyed at the dirty, grey cityscape through the window- allowed the sound to fill his ears gladly, drowning out the other voices inside the meeting room. He was peacefully shut off.

Until, that is, a ballpoint pen came spinning through the air and struck the back of his head. Blinking, Akihiko turned to see its hurler, Isaka-san, glaring at him from across the table.

"Oi, Akihiko, are you listening?" he asked. He was bracing his arms on the back of Aikawa-san's chair; the editor herself was seated in front of a silver laptop. They were the only three people in the room, and none of them looked the least bit happy.

"This is your speech we're preparing, you know," the director reminded him. Grimacing, Akihiko went back to watching the raindrops splatter against the glass.

"It's _your_ publicity stunt. Write whatever you want."

The apathy in his tone elicited twin sighs from his companions, muted but still audible over the rain. When Akihiko glanced back at them, his editor was giving him a sour look, and Isaka-san was rubbing his face in barely restrained frustration. They'd spent most of the past week arguing like this, trying and failing to agree on a single thing, and at this point they were as tense and volatile as wasps. Even the usually jovial Isaka-san was reaching his limit.

"Akihiko," his boss said, "in case you've forgotten, you're the one who's, you know, about to get _married_. Can't you at least pretend to care?

"Besides, we have less than a day to get everything ready," he added, giving Akihiko a pointed look.

The author ignored him. He knew he'd been ridiculous all week and it was driving his employer up the wall, but he simply didn't have the energy to engage with all the sheer bullshit as of late. He hadn't gotten a moment's peace since the agreement; rather, his time had been swarmed with a mad scramble of preparations that Isaka-san insisted on running him through, from everything to what he'd be wearing to how he'd walk onto stage to what he'd be allowed to eat and drink. And that was excluding the torturous photo-shoot.

Akihiko was utterly sick of it. He didn't care who was invited to this stupid party, or which news channels they contacted to send reporters, or whether they served chocolate fucking cake instead of strawberry. He just wanted this over with… Andto have as little to do with it as possible.

Languidly, the author stretched in his seat. "There's no reason we can't postpone it." There were few things Akihiko would like more, in fact. "Why do I have to announce this at Nakajima's party, anyway? Talk about stealing the spotlight."

Isaka-san clicked his tongue. "I've already explained this to you. Now, stop making excuses and come write your speech- I'm not doing the whole thing for you." When Akihiko stayed put, he tipped back his head and groaned. "Aikawa-san, help me out here."

The editor- who had barely spoken a word throughout all of this- tossed her flaming hair in refusal.

"I don't want any part of this," she said. "It's the slimiest, most sickening thing I've ever seen either of you stoop to."

Akihiko actually did wither a little at that. He'd known even before he told her what his editor's reaction to all this would be, but that hadn't made seeing the disgust in her eyes any less painful when he did. He hadn't bothered to try and explain himself; as a result, the two of them had seldom even looked at each since.

"Yes, you've made your feelings on the subject _very_ clear, Aikawa-san," Isaka-san said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He strode around the table and planted himself between his two unwilling accomplices, sending a warning glower in each of their directions.

"However, I'd like to remind you both that the future of my family, Akihiko's family _and_ this company…" A failed pause for impact. "… hinges on tomorrow night going absolutely perfectly. So unless you both want to answer to Fuyuhiko-san, you better start co-operating."

From outside came a distant rumble of thunder, as if to underline the point. Aikawa-san huffed.

"I don't see why I should have to co-operate when _he's_ been a complete pain in the ass all week," she said, scowling at Akihiko.

With two irritated pairs of eyes now on him, Akihiko found himself craving the relaxing nicotine rush of a cigarette. The pen Isaka-san had thrown was still lying on the table, and he picked it up and stuck it between his teeth as a poor but sufficient enough substitute.

"What do you expect?" he said as he chewed on the cap. "I never wanted to get hitched to that little heiress in the first place, let alone turn the whole thing into a media circus."

"You keep _saying_ that, sensei, but you're the one who agreed to it in the first place…" Rubbing her temples, Aikawa-san glanced at the screen of the laptop after hearing it emit a small _ping_. "Oh, goodie. Your dumb slideshow thing is ready."

Silently, Akihiko gulped. She hadn't yet seen those awful photographs.

Isaka-san reached for the laptop, looking rapt. "Let me see."

The pictures of Akihiko and Sakae posing began to appear one by one on the screen, fading into one other to some hackneyed piano music. Not wanting to see Aikawa-san's expression as she watched it, Akihiko turned back to the window, focusing on the sound of rain and approaching thunder so he wouldn't have to hear her repulsed groans. There were a lot of them. Each one was louder and more incredulous than the last, and once the slideshow had drawn to a close- ending on that hideous shot of Akihiko on one knee in front of Sakae, she with her hands in front of her mouth in false delighted shock- the editor slammed the laptop shut with a bang, very nearly retching.

"My God, I think I'm going to be sick…" she said as Isaka-san raised his brow at her. Then, to Akihiko, "Have you lost all respect for yourself?"

 _Pretty much_ , thought Akihiko as he gnawed on his pen. Aloud, he answered, "For the last time, it was Isaka-san's idea."

"I know it was his _idea_ , but you didn't have to go along with it…"

"I didn't have a goddamn choice!"

"You two, _party. Planning. Speech_ ," Isaka-san interrupted, banging his palms against the surface of the table. He seemed an entirely different person to the laid-back, smarmy young tycoon he'd been in front of Fuyuhiko and Yamato. There were extra lines around his eyes, and despite the rain he'd removed his suit jacket. Its absence made him look shabbier somehow. "We have _got_ to be ready by tomorrow."

Just as Akihiko was actually about to concede- if only so he'd be able to get out of there faster- Aikawa-san suddenly threw her hands up in the air.

"But _why_ , Isaka-san?" she demanded. Though he was avoiding her face, Akihiko noticed a tinge of hurt to her tone; she sounded almost betrayed. "Why are you doing this? If anything, I thought you'd be able to help get sensei _out_ of this mess, not go to all this trouble to help Fuyuhiko-san make him even _more_ miserable!"

Lavender eyes dared to flicker towards her; given her opinion of him lately, Akihiko was surprised to hear her defending him. Although, just because she was mad at their employer didn't necessarily mean she was any less appalled with him, he supposed. Quite the opposite, in fact, judging by her scowling, glossed lips as their eyes met. Still, she continued,

"Sensei doesn't even want this, and you're only complicating it for him. What the hell is the point?"

Shoulders heaving as he exhaled, exasperated, Isaka-san shrugged helplessly.

"Business, Aikawa-san," he said, as if that one word justified everything in itself. "We're promoting an author to maximise profits. It's what we're paid to do. And anyway, it's nothing Akihiko hasn't signed up for."

The only response to this was the continuous drum of raindrops against the large windows. Seeing the obvious disapproval in his employees' eyes, Isaka-san raised his to the ceiling.

"Oh, for God's sake, you should both be _happy_ ," he said, looking from one unenthusiastic face to the other. "So we're stretching the truth a little about the marriage thing. Big deal. These photos here-" He tapped the laptop, "- are gonna send Akihiko's ratings through the roof. Do neither of you realise that?"

Neither author nor editor deigned to respond. Akihiko was too livid to even look at him- _'stretching the truth a little', yeah, understatement of the year._ As Isaka-san waited for an answer, the younger man could feel their three combined tempers stretching, thinning, like a string of glue failing to hold. Aikawa-san closed her eyes with a slow shake of her head.

"No…" she said. Then, more decisively, "No. Forget it. I'm not doing this."

Sitting up a little straighter, Akihiko watched with wide eyes as she rose to her feet, stonily packing possessions back into her handbag. Isaka-san- bristling with impatience at this point- hurried to barricade her as she turned towards the exit.

"Woah, where do you think you're going? You _have_ to help us, you're Akihiko's editor-"

"I don't care," she snapped, whirling on him. Her boss took a step back in surprise, and Akihiko could have sworn she was quaking slightly- out of anger or nerves or something else entirely, he couldn't tell.

After a moment of stunned silence, Aikawa-san spoke again, in a voice that was calmer but undoubtedly clipped.

"I've been in this business for years, you know," she said. She was gripping the strap of her bag with both hands. "I know how it works. And I'm willing to be a little dishonest sometimes if it helps the author, but… this is over the line."

"Line?" Isaka-san repeated, frowning. "What line? This is no different to any other time we've-"

"It's completely different!" she hissed before he could even finish. Her boss's jawline visibly tightened, and Akihiko accidentally bit the pen so hard that bitter-tasting ink spilled into his mouth. Aikawa-san, however, was undeterred.

"We're not just telling a few little white lies to bump up sales, we're conducting an outright sham. _And_ we're ruining sensei's entire life in the process!

"It's bad enough that you're even letting this happen without dragging me into it." She was addressing Akihiko now, who blotted ink from the corner of his mouth with a tissue and dropped his gaze. Then she jabbed a manicured finger at Isaka-san, ignoring the dangerous arch of his eyebrow at the impudence. "And you, I can't believe you'd suggest it in the first place. Sensei's work is what's holding this company together, and you thank him by exploiting him for more money. It's disgusting!"

Huge black clouds were drawing close outside now, and the rain was hammering the windows, making the whole room seem to rattle. Very slowly, Isaka-san folded his arms.

"If you don't like it, perhaps you should set your sights on a different job, Aikawa-san," he said calmly.

This alone had Akihiko on his feet; he may have already fucked up his own life with the engagement, but he'd be damned if Aikawa-san was getting fired because of him. He opened his mouth, fully prepared to fight tooth and nail for her if he had to- when his editor said something that made him inhale sharply.

"You know what?" Placing her hands on her hips, she eyed Isaka-san with what could only be described as utter disdain. "I think I will."

"What?" Without thinking, Akihiko took a step forwards. "No!"

For the first time all week, he and Aikawa-san locked eyes.

"Makes no difference to me," said Isaka-san, and sauntered back to the table, leaving author and editor standing in the middle of the room. A far-off flash of lightning cast their shadows against the wall as they turned to face each other, neither of them speaking.

Akihiko stared at her- his editor, his partner, his friend- and was unprepared for just how deeply he felt the cut.

"You're leaving me too?" he eventually managed. He sounded small and bewildered, like a child. Several conflicting emotions crossed Aikawa-san's delicate features as she struggled to answer him, wringing the strap of her handbag.

"Sensei, I…" She sighed, shoulders sagging. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can do this anymore."

"What do you mean?" Akihiko asked. "Look, I'll stop dicking around and write the speech if you want-"

"I don't care about the _speech_ , you idiot!"

Startled, Akihiko blinked. At first, he'd though the crack in his editor's cry was due to anger, but when another lightning flash brightened the room briefly, he saw that her pale blue eyes were glistening. His own eyes widened. Was she actually…?

"Aikawa-san?"

Uncertainly, he half-reached for her shoulder, but a sniffle from her had the hand shrinking back to his side again. He watched, dumbstruck, as she wiped the corners of her eyes carefully with her fingers. He realised he'd never seen her cry before.

"It's _you_ I care about," she said, and her tremulous voice was so far removed from her usual buoyant, confident tone that Akihiko barely recognised it. Despite her efforts, her mascara had run, leaving black smudges about her eyes and cheeks.

"You know that, sensei. You're one of my best friends. You know how much I hate seeing you unhappy, and that's why I've done everything I possibly could to help you this last year, even though you've been _nothing_ but infuriating, and why I've still stuck by you when all you've done is mope around and feel sorry for yourself and treat everyone around you like dirt…

"You _know_ all that, and the only thing you've ever done in return is push me away!"

She was almost shouting by the time she finally paused to gather herself, taking a deep, quivering breath. Blackened rivulets rolled mournfully down her face. Akihiko was speechless.

"I tried to help you," Aikawa-san said. Her fists shook. "I _tried_ to make things better. So if you're just going to sit back and let your whole life fall apart, fine, but I won't have anything to do with it!"

"Aikawa-san," Akihiko started, but she was already turning her back. His brow creased as she swiftly exited the room, one hand clamped over her mouth to keep the sobs in, disappearing through the door in a flurry of skirts and red hair. A clap of thunder followed.

"Well," said Isaka-san after a moment, "that was needlessly dramatic."

Akihiko- who was still processing what had just happened- closed his gaping mouth and pushed a hand through his hair. Guilt was already clawing at his innards.

"I… had no idea she felt that way," he mumbled.

Leaning back in his seat, Isaka-san swung his legs up onto the table. "Oh, you know what she's like," he said with a wave of his hand. "That woman's always throwing hysterics. Tomorrow it'll be like nothing ever happened.

"Now," he said, and pushed the closed laptop across the table towards Akihiko. "Get cracking on that speech. Your father's gonna have my ass if we don't have a convincing love story by tomorrow evening."

Akihiko's eyes narrowed. He shoved away the laptop, reaching instead for his umbrella and jacket, both of which were hanging on the back of his chair.

"Fuck my father, fuck your love story and fuck _you_ , asshole."

As he threw the jacket on, Isaka-san let his chair fall back onto all four legs with a _thud_. "Is that any way to speak to your _boss_ , Akihiko? God, am I sick of everyone's attitude lately…" When the author headed for the door himself, he began to shout after him. "Oi, don't you dare try and leave too! I want this speech written, and I want it-"

"Just do it yourself," Akihiko snapped. His mouth was still bitter with pen ink, and his lungs screamed for nicotine. "I'll say whatever the hell you want me to tomorrow, but if I have to spend another minute in this room with you right now, I'm going to lose it."

"I could say the same to you, you spoilt brat," Isaka-san growled back. He jerked his head at the door. "Go on, then. Get out of here."

And Akihiko did so gladly. No sooner had he closed the door behind him did he turn and rest his forehead against it, releasing a long breath. What a disaster of a week… Scratch that, _year_. Just when he'd thought he'd lost everything he could possibly lose, the one person he never once expected to give up on him had abandoned him too. And whose fault was it? Entirely, one hundred percent Akihiko's, of course.

 _I should really go and find her…_ Before Akihiko could turn around, however, a familiar voice to his left made him stiffen.

"Nice going, Usami. Real nice."

Slowly, Akihiko's eyes swivelled sideways. The pair they met were a cold, dark blue, watching him through strands of ebony hair, dripping rainwater. An upturned coat collar obscured the lower half of Ijuuin's face as he stood with his arms crossed, head lolling carelessly to one side, leaning against the wall right outside the meeting room.

And Akihiko knew from the way he looked at him that he had heard every word.

* * *

Half an hour later, and the rain still refused to lessen. Akihiko cursed it as he splashed his way along the street, wishing he'd taken the car instead of walking just so he'd have an excuse to arrive at the office later. His long black coat was already sodden- the matching umbrella was of absolutely no use whatsoever- and the heavy bag taking up his other hand wasn't helping.

 _Should have stopped for a smoke outside the post office_ , he thought to himself; it would be impossible to light one now. Still, perhaps it was just as well if he wanted these letters to get home intact. The bag wasn't very waterproof.

Despite his best efforts, he hadn't been able to find Aikawa-san anywhere at Marukawa (he'd gone to look for her without even rising to Ijuuin's goad; it pissed him off that the mangaka knew his secret, but failed to see what difference it made, given that things were just about as shitty as they could possibly get). She was probably home by now. The thought of her- the woman who was usually lifting Akihiko back onto his feet- sitting alone and weeping disturbed him greatly.

 _It's your own fault for taking her for granted all the time._ Regret welled inside him, and he sighed. So caught up in his own self-pity had he been lately, he hadn't even noticed how thinly he was stretching his poor editor's patience. Today she'd snapped. She'd spent eleven months holding him up- him, Akihiko, a spoilt, self-absorbed prick- and he'd broken her.

If there was one good thing to come out of it, it was a wake-up call. Akihiko couldn't meet all of her wishes- it was way too late to go back on the marriage deal, anyway- but he could change, and starting from now, that was what he was going to try and do. He had to start thinking of people besides himself (and his ex). Who knew- perhaps he'd actually start to feel better if he gave a little more, and made an effort to follow his editor's advice from time to time. After all, she was pretty much the only person left in Akihiko's life besides, maybe, Hiroki, who still had her head screwed on straight.

 _If_ she was still part of his life.

The author shuddered as he walked- not because of the raindrops that were dripping off the umbrella and trickling down his neck, but because the thought of losing yet another person he cared about was more than he could bear. He had to act fast if he wanted her forgiveness; that was why he'd made a resolve to do at least one of the things his editor was always asking him to before he saw her tomorrow.

The chosen task: answering his fan mail.

It may not have been much, but it was a start. Once at home- dry-clothed and puffing on the long-awaited cigarette- Akihiko heaved the enormous bag of letters he'd collected from the post office into his study with a grunt. The weight of it alone was slightly daunting. While it was, of course, always nice to hear from his readers, going through and replying to every single letter and e-mail could be a long and tedious process. Hence, Akihiko tended to put it off until his PO Box was full.

Still, he'd gone and collected the letters now, so there was no going back. Settling himself at his desk, Akihiko slipped on his reading glasses, took out his letter-opener and slit the first of the many, many envelopes.

The handwritten ones always took longer to get through; might as well get them out of the way first. If anything, this would make for a good distraction from his nightmarish week and the looming prospect of Isaka-san's party tomorrow.

He started with the ones addressed to 'Yayoi Akikawa', easing himself into the task. The _Junai_ fans were a lot less discerning than those of his other novels, and their letters were mostly just pages and pages of gushing praise. Some of them even sent him gifts. When it came to his main works, the readers were considerably more mixed and as a result, so was the reception, though the letters were generally pretty polite and judicious. Inevitably, there were always one or two hate letters (riddled more often than not with spelling errors, capitals and exclamation points), but they only ever served to give Akihiko a brief chuckle- a rare occurrence for him these days.

He stayed at his desk for a good few hours, the ashtray gradually getting more and more crammed with stubs, and though his back and eyes were soon sore it was pleasantly mind-numbing. It was coming up to midnight when he paused and stretched, reaching into the bag with one hand and stifling a yawn with the other.

"Hm?"

For a split second, the name on the envelope he'd drawn out confused him. Once he remembered, however, his curiosity was piqued; this would be his first time receiving fan mail for 'Kareha Fujimoto'.

He'd almost forgotten about _Blood and Cherry Blossoms_ , he mused as he lit a fresh cigarette. Given that it was so different to anything he'd written before, it would be interesting to see what kind of fanbase it had. Come to think of it, the handwriting on the envelope was familiar; perhaps it was one of his regulars who'd unknowingly written to him again. Usami's and Fujimoto's work had been compared often, so it would make sense.

He slit the envelope, not checking the return address (he only did that once he'd deemed the letter worthy of a response). Sitting back in his seat, a thin plume of smoke drifting from the corner of his mouth, Akihiko began to read.

' _Dear Fujimoto-sensei,_

 _This is actually the first fan letter I've ever written to a novelist. I'm really more of a manga guy, but after I read_ Blood and Cherry Blossoms _, I just felt like I had to tell you how much I loved it. It became my favourite book instantly. In fact, I think it might be the best thing I've ever read (not that I read that many books, like I said, but you get the point).'_

Akihiko smiled faintly.

' _Something about your story just really stood out to me. I don't know much about the mechanics of writing, so I can't tell you exactly what, but I can say that I've never gotten so emotional over a book before. Like, I literally while I was reading, no joke. Hitomi and Yuu felt so real to me, sometimes I'd even forget that it was only a story. Maybe that sounds silly, but it's true._

' _Actually, Yuu's character was so realistic that he reminded me a lot of someone I know in real life. And I mean a_ lot _\- like, down to the last detail. I think that's why I was so sad about what happened to him at the end. I have to be honest and say the ending was the only part I didn't like. I don't think Yuu deserved that. That sounded kind of weird, like he's an actual person. This is going to sound even weirder, but Hitomi actually reminded me of myself a little. Sometimes it was like looking in a mirror. I won't bore you with the details, but I've made some mistakes in life that are pretty similar to the ones she makes in the book, in a really roundabout sort of way. But I didn't realise it until I'd read the book.'_

By this point, the smile had been replaced with a small frown. _This handwriting…_

' _Sorry, I'm rambling. I do that a lot in fan letters. What I'm trying to tell you is that, while I loved your book for the story, what I'm most grateful to you for is that your writing helped me reflect on myself in a way that I hadn't been able to before- and at a time I really needed it, too. I saw Hitomi's flaws in myself. I saw Yuu's good side in the other person, the one I already mentioned, my Yuu. In a way, I feel like reading_ Blood and Cherry Blossoms _made me a better person.'_

Akihiko's heart was beating fast as his fingers dug into the paper.

' _So, yeah. I'm sorry that this was a really weird letter, and that I'm just some random guy projecting my own life onto your story, but I wanted to thank you. Please know that you will always have a fan in me._

' _Best wishes, Misaki Takahashi, 22. :)'_

For a very long time, the plume of smoke from Akihiko's cigarette was the only thing that stirred within the office.

' _I saw Yuu's good side in the other person… My Yuu.'_

The author only stopped staring at the letter when he suddenly noticed how strangely silent everything had become. It took him a moment or two to realise it was just because the rain had finally stopped, and was no longer drumming against the small office window. Still holding the letter, he wheeled across the room in his chair to peer outside.

The city below was slick with rainfall. Just outside Akihiko's window there was an old tree, and its leaves- a vibrant, midsummer green- were shining in the emerging moonlight, still dripping. Looking from them to the letter, Akihiko was reminded of Misaki's verdant eyes on the night he left, overflowing with rain of their own.

How many more times, he wondered, would he be responsible for the tears of those he treasured?

' _I don't think Yuu deserved that.'_ With an exhale that was almost a bitter laugh, Akihiko leaned against the windowsill, watching the remaining droplets fall from the leaves.

"Misaki, love, if only you knew."

He re-read the letter. And again, and a fourth time. Finally, he held it close to his chest. At first he intended to lock it up with the rest of his mementos, in Misaki's old bedroom, but after a moment's consideration, Akihiko decided to fold it up, tuck it back inside the envelope, and place it carefully inside the topmost drawer of his desk. There it was within arm's reach when he was writing. He had a feeling he was going to want it there in future, somehow.

Closing the drawer, Akihiko rose, stubbed out his cigarette, flipped the light switch, and headed to the kitchen for a strong drink.

* * *

 **That, I promise you, was the LAST chapter of build-up before the story reaches its peak. I know you guys are impatient- _I'm_ impatient too, because I've been planning the ending to this thing for over a year and I'm itching to finally get it down in black and white. I know the recent chapters have been especially heavy and everyone's desperate to see all the drama finally resolved. I can only assure you that the wait is very nearly over.**

 **So, here's the deal: I have a week left of the Christmas holidays, during which time I plan to get as much of the next three chapters written as I can. I say three because that's about how many chapters the climax will span, and I think they'll lose their impact if there's a long wait between each of them, so I want to write them all at once. Also, I've been building them up since chapter 1, so I want to make sure they're perfect before I post them. After the climax, there'll be a couple more chapters and an epilogue before the story is totally finished.**

 **Of course, I will also be busy with other stuff next week, so I can't say for sure how long it will be before the next update, but I'm hoping it won't be longer than a month. Again, thank you all for your patience- I promise I'll do my utmost to make the ending live up to expectations.**

 **In the meantime, I hope you're all as excited for next time as I am! Thank you very much for reading, and do let me know what you thought of the chapter in the reviews. (Unlike Akihiko, I love responding to readers ^^) Also, since I won't be seeing you guys for a while, I wish you all a Happy New year. :)**


	47. Chapter 47

**Hi everyone.**

 **First off, I owe you all an apology. I didn't know when I posted the last chapter that I was about to take the longest hiatus I've ever taken, or I would have said so. As I'm sure you guys understand, sometimes life just gets in the way, and a lot of unexpected issues as of late have meant that I haven't had a lot of time to write. I can only hope this update makes up for the wait.**

 **At long last, I've completed all four chapters of the climax, as promised. Now, I've had a rough plan of this story for a year, and during that year, I reviewed and revised _every possible ending_ I could give it. Seriously, the plan went through about fifty changes before I was happy. After much deliberation I have decided that this is the best way to resolve 'Mistakes', and I hope that you all will agree with me.**

 **I'm saying this because I still have doubts about posting this, because I'm me, and there is so much riding on these four chapters that I'd be really gutted if they disappointed you. But I'm going to go ahead and post them because I'm trying to have more confidence in myself, like always, and whenever this has happened before you guys have always been really supportive. Speaking of that, I'd just like to say thank you to those of you who took the time to send me lovely messages when I was a little down; they really kept me going (so _please_ don't apologise!).**

 **But this is getting overdramatic (Typical DD...). I'm sure you're all sick to death of waiting, so I'll just say that I really hope you enjoy the next chapters. Whatever you think of them, know that I gave them my all, for you guys. :)**

* * *

Of all the venues Isaka-san could have picked, he just had to go for Teito Hotel again. The suite had one of those curved, panoramic windows, bringing the sprawling cityscape- just beginning to flicker to life as the sun slipped away- bursting into the room. Far below, cars were pulling up and spilling out party guests. It was almost time.

Standing and staring out at the emerging summer stars, Akihiko was thrown back to that magical night he'd spent here with Misaki, all those years ago. Their bodies pressed together, glass cool against their fevered skin, a medley of blissful cries and sighs mingling as Tokyo twinkled below them…

He would never know passion like it again.

Though this room was identical to the last one, Akihiko's romantic recollections were completely soiled by the wildly different circumstances. Now he felt only the curdled dread in his abdomen, along with the occasional nip of irritation as the clamour filling the room gradually increased. Hotel staff, party planners and various Marukawa bigwigs kept buzzing in and out like flies to consult Isaka-san, who was alternating between barking commands and speaking rapidly into his cellphone. With all the commotion, one would think they were setting up to host the Imperial House rather than a measly company party.

Akihiko kept his back facing the rest of the room, trying to glean a final few moments of solitude before his nightmare was set in motion- But of course, Isaka-san wasn't going to make it that easy for him.

"Right, the reporters are going to be here in fifteen minutes." Snapping his cell shut, the director turned his head towards him. "Akihiko, are you ready?"

The author, without turning around, blew out a jet of smoke. "Yes."

"Sure? Got that speech memorised?"

"Word for word."

"Positive?"

" _Yes_ , Isaka-san."

"Alright, alright, I'm just checking," grumbled his boss. Dismissing a couple of caterers, he began scrolling through the many notifications on his phone, throwing Akihiko a pointed glance as he did so. "No offence, but I don't exactly trust you not to dupe us at the last minute."

Leaning leisurely against the wall in his finest suit, Fuyuhiko made an amused sound. "Wise indeed, Ryuichiro-kun."

His voice just oozed complacency. Over his shoulder, Akihiko paused to give his father the filthiest look he could muster before directing his attention back to Isaka-san.

"You don't have to worry." A burning breath of smoke; an exhale. "I promise I'll do everything according to your sick little plan."

"As long as you drop the attitude once we're down there, that's good enough for me…" The director was muttering distractedly, but after skimming something on his phone, his eyes lit up. "Ah, Yamato-san and his daughter are here."

The words seemed to crawl up from Akihiko's gut and grab hold of him, dragging him slowly downwards into a dark pit. _She's here._

'She' was still something not quite human in his eyes; she was more like a phantom, some looming, ominous, inexorable presence. The previous evening, once Akihiko's veins were swollen with enough alcohol to knock him into oblivion, he'd been plagued with uneasy dreams of crimson hair and jewels and those blank, staring eyes of hers, always there no matter how far he ran. For a moment, the author had even been convinced that she really was standing over him when he awoke with a start in his bed.

Thinking of this had Akihiko inwardly cringing. He didn't remember how he'd managed to get from the kitchen table to his room, but he had a feeling Hiroki had visited and sorted him out. He had memories of his friend's face after last night, too- albeit very hazy ones- and if he thought hard enough, he could recall a dim echo of Hiroki's sharp, scolding voice as he discovered the mess that had once been his childhood friend, slumped over a pile of bottles and cigarette stubs.

" _Akihiko, what the fuck is the matter with you? Snap out of it, now!"_

" _No… lea… leave me 'lone."_

" _I'm not going anywhere until you tell me why you're being such a moron!"_

" _Akihiko!"_

" _Akihiko…?"_

"… _Come on, let's get you-"_

" _Don' wanna marry her."_

" _What?"_

" _I want Misaki."_

" _I… I know, Akihiko."_

" _I miss him."_

" _I know."_

" _Why's he have to be gone…?"_

" _I don't know. It's just… the way it is."_

He burned with shame at the memories.

Meanwhile, his father and his boss were practically panting to run and prostrate themselves at the Yamatos' feet.

"Make sure you stay away from her all evening, Akihiko," Isaka-san, grabbing his blazer, reminded him. "We want this to be a surprise."

Fuyuhiko added, "And take that cancer stick out of your mouth, will you?"

Fumes were already curling above their heads; Akihiko was on his sixth or seventh, but the nicotine was doing nothing for his nerves. He took another drag even so. "In case you've forgotten, old man," he replied, exhaling smoke and sarcasm, "I'm making a pretty big sacrifice for you tonight. The least you can do for me in my last hours of freedom is let me enjoy a cigarette."

His only response was an eye-roll as his father turned his back. "Make sure he's presentable before the reporters arrive."

He was now addressing Aikawa-san; she was sitting on one of the suit's luxurious chairs, cross-legged and tight-lipped, and making a point of ignoring every order that came her way. Akihiko was surprised she'd even shown up at all; the director must have forced her.

Seeing the editor turn her nose up, Fuyuhiko shrugged and left with Isaka-san to greet the guests of honour. Most of the others followed them out, and Akihiko would have been glad of the peace had it not meant he was now alone with Aikawa-san. As soon as the room emptied, he could feel yesterday's confrontation hanging over them as they pretended to ignore it, facing away from each other. Akihiko reached for the smokes in his breast pocket- having come to the stub of his current one- and drew out his lighter, if only for want of something do amidst the crippling awkwardness. He was surprised, therefore, when a manicured hand suddenly appeared and took the box gently but firmly out of his own.

"You know," said Aikawa-san, tucking the pack into her handbag, "if there's one thing you want to listen to him about, it's the cigarettes. You'll be dead in less than a decade if you don't cut back."

Akihiko frowned a little, but made no move to protest. Unable to help himself, he replied, "I thought you didn't care what I did with myself anymore."

Instead of the irritated scowl he'd been expecting, Aikawa-san's face took on a surprising softness.

"I'll always care, sensei. You know that."

She picked up Akihiko's suit jacket, draped over a nearby chair, and motioned for him to turn so she could slip it gently on. As she reached her arms around him to button it, he eyed his reflection in the window. The new suit was nice; suave mid-grey, with a purple tie and dress shirt, not too garish, editor's choice. They fit flawlessly. Aikawa-san had never let him down when it came to picking out clothes, but now, even though she'd done it countless times before, her dressing him felt all wrong to Akihiko. It used to be a caring, friendly gesture; now, it was like wrapping a shark in a baby seal's pelt. She was disguising him for tonight's deception against her will.

And yet, he thought, here she was by his side. Whether she liked it or not, as always. Their eyes met in the window, and Akihiko saw her hesitate as she retracted her arms. He twisted around.

"But…"

"What is it?"

Her bare shoulders rose and fell, and she adjusted the hem of her dress. "I should let you know, I handed in my notice this morning. You'll be assigned a new editor in six weeks."

There was a moment of stillness. Akihiko regarded her wordlessly for a second before turning back to the window. His mirrored face was unreadable.

"I see," he said quietly.

She hovered behind him. "I just can't continue working for someone like him."

"I understand, Aikawa-san." He was already studying himself again. The suit suddenly seemed of great importance now, now that he knew it would be the last one she ever chose for him.

Aikawa-san's reflection crept up behind his own. The sky had darkened, and Akihiko could see the city lights behind her face, the skin translucent. Like she was already fading away.

"It's not too late, you know," she half-whispered. "You can still back out."

He thought about it. Running away into the night, alone, free, leaving Sakae behind and Fuyuhiko to flounder in the face of her father. He could go anywhere he wanted. Oh, it was tempting, alright.

But then, he thought of Misaki's face the last time he thought someone might find out about them.

Strands of silver fell into his eyes as he shook his head. "It's not fair to Misaki."

He didn't need to see Aikawa-san's face to know she was frowning.

"Why go to such lengths for someone who hurt you so much?"

Pressing a hand against the cold windowpane, Akihiko watched the last few rays of gold melt away from the sky, smothering the rooftops in darkness. More cars were roaring up to the hotel. As he peered down at the procession of heads snaking through the door, he swore he caught a glimpse of scarlet hair under the streetlamps, like a splash of wine, or blood, and he hurriedly closed his eyes against it.

"Because I'm about to hurt him even more," he said.

* * *

With any luck, Isaka-san's opulent guests would simply think Misaki was arriving fashionably late. Nobody had any reason to suspect, as he slunk into the Teito Hotel two hours after he was supposed to, that he'd actually spent those two hours trying to think of an excuse to blow the whole thing off so he wouldn't have to interact with any of them.

"Are you a guest or an employee, sir?" the uniformed maître d' at the entrance asked him. He'd tried to slip in unnoticed, but apparently she had to check that he was on 'the list' first. Why they needed a list, he had no idea.

"Employee," he answered, slightly acidly. She _knew_ he wasn't a guest. They were at the Teito Hotel; the guests here didn't have untrimmed hair or dark circles under their eyes or a tatty Band Aid on one finger because they accidentally cut themselves making dinner. Here, Misaki's ordinariness was even more glaring than usual.

But the maître d' graciously feigned ignorance, ticking him off the list with a blinding smile.

"Enjoy your evening at the Teito Hotel, sir."

Music and muffled voices pulsed behind the enormous double doors, spilling forth along with a slice of yellow light as she opened them for him. As he peered through, the first thought that came to Misaki- who was the last to arrive- was _ooh, boy, that's a_ lot _of people._

Misaki wasn't an asocial guy- far from it- but after the incident at the _Kan_ premier, he wasn't too fond of large bodies of people, and this was an _especially_ large one. They weren't just any old people, either. They were people in tailored suits and long, swishy gowns. They were people sipping daintily from crystal glasses. They were people shaking hands, flashing teeth, exchanging formalities and business cards. Classy people. _Rich_ people.

It was like a portal into Misaki's own personal hell.

"I'll try," he mumbled in response.

As soon as he was over the threshold, the doors closed behind him again, sealing Misaki's fate. Noise and brightness engulfed him. He blinked a few times, adjusting, and when the scene before him settled into focus he felt his jaw drop. _You've gotta be kidding me._

He'd been inside the Teito's main hall before (Usagi-san had dragged him along a few years ago), but this time, Isaka-san and co. seemed to have stepped the decorating process up a notch. Or ten. The elegant, stylish venue of Misaki's memories was now positively _dripping_ lace, frills and satin ribbons, crocheted cloths draping the tables and bouquets in delicate pastel shades springing up here and there. Misaki couldn't help but gawk; for a split second, he even wondered if Isaka-san had hired a bunch of eight-year-old girls to be his party planners. Or maybe those _Emerald_ guys were behind it. Either way, it made him want to laugh and throw up at the same time.

 _Ugh… I knew I should have just stayed at home._ Looking over his shoulder, Misaki gazed longingly at the doors but shook himself out of it. There was no wussing out now. Besides, it was his first company party as a real editor; now was his chance to mingle, get his name out there, make connections. At least, that was what Kirishima-san had told him. Misaki had only dragged himself here in the first place because he'd promised his boss.

Thinking of the chief editor, the uneasiness within Misaki's stomach thickened. Not only would he now have to justify why he was late, but Kirishima-san- oblivious to last week's events- expected him to spend the majority of this evening showcasing his cohesive, professional editor-artist bond with a certain mangaka…

And call it a hunch, but Misaki felt like that might be just a _teensy_ bit difficult under the current circumstances.

He swallowed, already uncomfortably warm inside the crowded hall. Somewhere in that sea of bodies, he knew, Ijuuin was lurking. Misaki would have to face him tonight. His skin crawled at the very thought, and he wished more than anything that he could simply fold himself away like a spare chair until the party was over- But he couldn't do that any more than he could keep dithering in front of the door all evening.

He kept an eye out for Kirishima's golden curls as he ventured- reluctantly- forwards, and another, warier one out for any sharp, ocean-blue eyes. There were easily over two hundred people here, and like everybody else he ever met, they all seemed to be taller than Misaki. He spent the next twenty minutes or so meandering aimlessly through the masses, brushing against smooth silk and chiffon and real fur and cashmere, asking after his boss and gleaning only infuriatingly vague responses. Some of the guests flat out ignored him.

In no time at all, Misaki found himself gripped with that familiar and agonising self-consciousness he used to experience in his college days, when he ended up at parties where he didn't know anyone. Only this was worse, because it was nothing like the kind of parties he was used to; sure, everyone was standing around, drinking and laughing, but it wasn't loud, raucous laughter, and nobody was drinking simply for the sake of getting drunk. Isaka-san's guests were the kind that sipped fine liquors in tiny amounts just because they could afford it, letting out careful, dignified little chuckles as they did so. Not even the celebrities at the _Kan_ premier compared to them. These people were not here to have fun; they were here to make an impression.

 _I'm just not cut out for this_ , Misaki eventually concluded, weaving his way through a gaggle of women with their hair up in elaborate piles of curls. In a way, this was even more terrifying than the premier. Though the atmosphere wasn't as high-charged- less of a buzz and more of a gentle hum- something about it set Misaki's teeth on edge. He almost felt like an intruder.

The crowd had disoriented him, but the increasing volume of the music told him he was coming to the far end of the hall, near the live orchestra pit. Above the heads of the crowd, a huge, semi-circular stage was just visible. It seemed a little quieter there, and Misaki- who was very nearly sweating- allowed the music to guide him over, if only to grab a few lungfuls of air before continuing his search.

The stage, groaning with flowers and velvet curtains, bulged out into the hall, criss-crossed with a network of cables as camera crews hurried to set up their equipment. Apparently there was going to be a live broadcast of Nakajima-sensei (along with several other prominent Marukawa figures) making a speech later tonight. Misaki guessed there would also be some kind of presentation, because a gigantic screen hung centre stage. Below, the orchestra pit was small but nonetheless alive, violins and cellos and an impressive ivory piano all harmonising with a melody that should have been cheerful, but for some reason only dampened Misaki's spirits as he sidled over to watch.

The pianist's fingers danced over the keys, practised, skilled. Green eyes followed them sullenly. Things like this- live music, people standing at doors with lists- were probably second nature here, in this world of the moneyed. But for Misaki, they only served to remind him how out-of-place he was.

He looked out over the hall- it was easier to see from here, now that he had some room. A chandelier twice the size of a tractor wheel glittered down on the guests, crown-like, and its light seemed to segregate them; those who had been invited were marked out by jewels and designer watches, twinkling under the glow, setting them apart from those who were only there because they had to be, like Misaki. But as the young editor surveyed them, he realised that even the few people he recognised at least seemed to know what they were doing. Everyone looked strange in this light; there was something in the way they all carried themselves tonight that made them seem like a different species. Misaki was the outsider, the alien, the mis-cut puzzle piece that didn't quite fit.

 _I don't belong here_. Strangely dejected, he dropped his gaze downwards. When was the last time he ever felt like he _belonged_ anywhere?

 _ **You know exactly when.**_

On that note, Misaki was fully prepared to walk right out of the hotel, hop on the nearest bus home and spend the rest of the evening curled up in bed reading manga, but before he could move a muscle, someone behind him called his name. He froze in place, eyes closing in silent despair.

" _There_ you are, rookie!" said Kirishima-san as he turned to face him. He was strolling across the hall towards his subordinate, one hand clasping a glass of something expensive-looking. "Where have you been?"

As he approached, the stolen manuscripts Misaki had brought with him immediately began burning a hole through his pocket. The chief editor was grinning broadly, but what exactly would become of that face once Misaki broke the news, he didn't know, and he didn't want to.

"Sorry, Kirishima-san," he said, trying and failing to plaster on a smile. Even his boss looked extra polished tonight. His golden curls were glossy, his suit impeccable. Misaki felt his temperature begin to rocket again. _How the hell am I going to tell him?_ "There were, uh, train delays."

His excuse barely seemed to register with Kirishima-san; he was already grabbing Misaki by the elbow. "Well, come on- I've been telling the director of Onodera Publishing about you, and now everyone wants to exchange business cards with _Japun's_ little prodigy."

He gestured to a cluster of smartly-dressed men a few feet away. Misaki's stomach twisted at the sight of them, the inner critic slyly reminding him that he was anything but a prodigy; a usurper, more like. Still, he knew it was too late to protest.

"Um, okay." Cautiously, he glanced behind the older man and asked, "Where's Ijuuin-sensei?"

The speed at which Kirishima-san's grin shrank at this was quite remarkable. Thin-lipped, he jerked his head at something behind Misaki, who turned.

Taking up one entire length of the hall was a decadent buffet. The table closest to Misaki was laden with drink, and standing beside it, alone, was the mangaka. Even from this distance, Misaki could see the bleariness of those blue eyes, the unsteadiness of his limbs as he clutched the edge of the table for support. He swayed as he reached for another glass.

Behind him, Kirishima-san's low grumble: "He's been at the booze since the minute we got here. Why does he insist on getting shitfaced now, of all times? I bet you anything he's gonna make a total drunken ass of himself later tonight."

 _ **Sound familiar, Misaki?**_

Actual sweat was forming under his shirt now. "Mm."

Picking up the note of nausea in Misaki's mumble, Kirishima-san peered down at him, the irritated look giving way to one of concern. "You okay, Takahashi?"

"Yeah, absolutely!"

"You don't look okay." Clearly, Misaki's acting skills had nothing on the painfully obvious flush he could feel creeping onto his cheeks. His boss frowned. "You're not going to faint again, are you?"

Misaki whipped his head from side to side; as _if_ he was going to embarrass himself any further in front of all these people! "Honestly, I'm fine."

Kirishima-san glanced back at the group he'd been talking with, unconvinced. "Well…" he said slowly, and gave Misaki a gentle nudge towards the buffet. "Maybe you should grab a glass of water and a bite to eat before you come and meet everyone. There's no rush."

His kind smile was just another squeeze at Misaki's guilty heart. He scurried away like a coward even so, offering a meek 'thank you, sir'. Shizuku's stolen papers throbbed in his blazer pocket.

 _You_ have _to tell him tonight_ , he ordered himself, taking care to avoid the drinks table where Ijuuin was still knocking it back. Instead he wandered further along, still marvelling at his surroundings. The place even _smelled_ of money; pricey perfumes, polish and food Misaki didn't even know the names of. The spread, whilst certainly impressive, didn't exactly look appetising. Misaki steered clear of all the weird little bite-sized mysteries, the grainy, black glop that people were dipping crackers into- He didn't even touch the cake. It wasn't his to eat, anyway; Shizuku should be here enjoying this buffet, not him.

He wondered what his predecessor was doing right now. Sitting at home by himself, probably, resenting him. Would that Misaki could switch places with him. Every second he avoided setting things straight only piled on the guilt, but in all honesty, the sensitive young editor wasn't sure if he could bring himself to tell Shizuku that his hero had intentionally sabotaged him; it would crush the guy.

 _Maybe it would actually be kinder to keep quiet_ , he thought to himself, grabbing a glass from a sparkling pyramid in the centre of one table. If he were Shizuku, he wouldn't even want to work with Ijuuin knowing what he'd done. Misaki sure wished _he'd_ known before taking his place. Then he and Ijuuin would never have-

 _Ugh, don't think about that!_

He shuddered, heading for the water cooler before he vomited all over the buffet. Just as he was reaching for the tap, however, his glass clinked loudly against that of someone else doing the same. Cursing his clumsiness, Misaki looked up, opening his mouth to apologise- and found himself staring straight into two distinctive amethyst eyes, each as wide with surprise as Misaki's own.

 _Ba-thump._

"Oh!" he exclaimed, and hastily checked himself. "I mean, uh, hi. Usagi-san."

Usagi-san- with one hand habitually and somehow attractively resting in his pocket- blinked once before his expression shifted into something the younger man couldn't quite place. "Misaki." It came out as almost a sigh.

Simultaneously, they withdrew their glasses. A string of swear words tangled through Misaki's mind; as if his evening hadn't been awkward enough already. Usagi-san, after a pause, pressed his glass to the water tap, and Misaki's first thought was _he's not drinking? How unlike him._ It was unlike him to even _be_ here, come to think of it.

A few moments of strained silence passed as the author took a long gulp from his glass. Then, "I didn't expect you'd be here tonight."

Whether he meant that in positive or negative sense, Misaki wasn't sure. It sounded like the latter. He shrugged.

"Me neither. But I had to come, now that I'm…" _Oh, fuck._

"You're…?"

Mentally kicking himself, Misaki grit his teeth and continued, "Um, now that I'm one of Ijuuin-sensei's editors. You know, 'cause of the movie, and… stuff."

 _ **Nice going, Misaki. You actually managed to make this**_ **more** _ **uncomfortable.**_

Before he was even done talking, he saw Usagi-san's handsome features harden upon hearing the mangaka's name. "Oh. Right." Another swig of water. "Shouldn't you be with him, then?"

"Uh…" Looking over his shoulder, Misaki observed a groggy-looking Ijuuin sloshing umber liquid over his suit sleeve as Kirishima-san growled at him for a few seconds. "I think my boss has got it covered for now.

"Besides, I don't really enjoy this kind of thing," he added.

This received a grunt of acknowledgement and nothing more. Misaki watched as the older man plucked a dinky canapé from a nearby plate, regarded it disinterestedly for a while and then popped it in his mouth, chewing grimly. Clearly, he was as happy to be here as Misaki was.

Of course, it was only natural that Usagi-san would be in a bad mood since they were at a party, but he seemed to be in a _particularly_ bad one this evening. Or maybe Misaki was just imagining it. Still, the part of him that wasn't admiring how the author's deep mauve shirt brought out his eyes was sure that the lines on his forehead were deeper than usual, and his broad shoulders a little higher. It was probably best to leave him alone…

Misaki bit his lip. This was the first time he'd encountered Usagi-san since, well, since he'd realised certain things ( _ **like how hopelessly head-over-heels for him you still are?**_ ), and whilst he knew the man well enough to know that he probably didn't want company right now, that increasingly assertive selfishness of his wanted to stay in his rabbit's presence a little longer.

So, against his better judgement, he cleared his throat. "I bet you're not too happy about being here either, huh?"

Something in the middle of a laugh and a scoff escaped Usagi-san's lips. "You can say that again."

"I'm surprised you actually showed up, instead of leaving the country to escape Isaka-san again."

The attempt at humour was feeble at best, and it fell completely flat when Usagi-san, rather than crack a smile as Misaki had hoped, tightened his grip around the crystal glass. Tendons in his hand stood out, bony and pale.

"Well, he was very… persuasive this time."

"Oh. I see…" He didn't. "Still, it was good of you to come and support Nakajima-sensei."

This seemed to marginally lighten the mood; Usagi-san's head tilted towards Misaki just a fraction, his brow smoothening itself out. "Did you read her book?"

"Ah, no," said Misaki, rubbing the back of his head. "You know I'm not much of a reader. Although, I did read this really amazing book not too long ago by someone who works right here at Marukawa," he piped up, seeing another branch of conversation and snatching at it.

For some reason, Usagi-san averted his eyes.

"That so?"

Misaki nodded. "I was hoping to see the author tonight, but if they're here it doesn't look like they're showing their face…"

Rather pointlessly, he turned and scoured the babbling crowd for a moment or two, as if his fanboy senses could magically detect which face belonged to the elusive Fujimoto-sensei. When he turned back again, Usagi-san was looking into his glass.

"Perhaps it's for the best." His tiny reflection rippled in what was left of the water. "They do say don't meet your heroes, after all."

"Yeah," Misaki murmured after a second. "Good point…"

Like an involuntary, tell-tale twitch, his eyes flickered towards the table where Ijuuin stood. When they returned once more to Usagi-san, he saw that the author had followed his gaze. The lines in his forehead deepened again.

"Is everything…?" He let the sentence hang. Quietly, Misaki sighed; he was even more transparent to Usagi-san than the glass of water in his hand.

"Not really," he admitted.

Either the author had no response, or was simply keeping it to himself. Wordlessly, he drained his glass, and the conversation dried up along with it. Misaki looked down at the table. Scattered among the various dishes was an array of intricately folded napkins, and the two in front of him and Usagi-san were shaped like pure white butterflies in a delicate dance, frozen mid-flutter. A similar ordeal was going on in Misaki's chest as he selected his next words; flutter, flutter, flutter. Each high-pitched whine of the nearby violins seemed to stretch his nerves a little further.

 _Fuck it_ , he eventually decided. He might never get another chance to say this. "Hey, Usagi-san?"

The author raised his chin as a silent invitation to continue. Nervously, Misaki tugged at his new, stiff suit.

"I know this isn't really the time or place, but… Well, I think I owe you an apology. Again."

One elegant eyebrow lifted above him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" The fluttering was more of a pounding now. Misaki sucked in a breath. "For trusting him instead of you that night."

There was no need to give 'him' a name. Usagi-san's other eyebrow rose up to join its twin, and Misaki forced the hand that was fiddling with his tie to retract. He stood with his arms by his sides, his head bent. The picture of remorse.

"And for getting mad, and s-saying all that stuff, and… well, everything. I shouldn't have treated you that way."

Looking down at his smart shoes as he was, he couldn't see the reaction on Usagi-san's face. His delayed response was devoid of any particular emotion.

"I had been pretty stupid."

"Yeah, well… I've been stupid, too," Misaki confessed. Before the other man could question him, he went on shakily, "And it made me realise I was unfair. All those things I accused you of… I was wrong about that.

"About… you."

He finished with a gulp, daring to lift his head. His cheeks were aflame by this point, and they only burned brighter as he locked eyes with Usagi-san; the author's own lavender hues were glistening strangely, his lips slightly apart.

It seemed like an age before he finally spoke, but when he did his voice was a distant, near bewildered murmur. "What are you saying?"

"I'm just saying I'm sorry," said Misaki quickly. That was all there was to this. One last apology to straighten things out.

So why had the pounding in his chest become this painful throbbing?

Fighting to keep the cracks out of his voice, he managed to clarify, "That's all. Just, sorry. You're… a good guy, Usagi-san."

 _You're more than good. You lit up my entire world. I was blind without you, Usagi-san, and I'm sorry I was ever stupid enough to let you go._

Those were the words he wished he could end with, but he knew he could go no further. Usagi-san knew it, too, and the two of them stood in silence as the music and chatter and clinking plates faded into white noise around them, only staring, pale lilac on lush green as they searched desperately for things that would never be spoken in each other's gaze.

Finally, Usagi-san broke the spell.

"You never cease to amaze me, Misaki."

The editor's eyebrows bunched; he didn't know what kind of answer he'd expected, but it wasn't that. "What's that mean?"

Usagi-san… Why did he suddenly look so terribly, unbearably _sad_?

"It means I accept your apology." They both noticed at the same time that the author was still holding his empty glass, and he set it rather heavily down on the buffet table. With his freed hand, he pushed the sweep of silver hair back off his forehead. "Excuse me, I… think I need some air."

Puzzled, Misaki nodded nonetheless. "Right. See you, then."

The pools of sorrow within his rabbit's eyes deepened then, and in an eerily telepathic moment, Misaki read what he was thinking: _no, you won't_.

The squeezing at Misaki's heart grew worse than ever. Was this it, then? Was this the last time they would ever cross paths, a clumsy mistake like when they first met to bring everything full circle and end it, once and for all?

 _No… No… I don't want…_

Only when a large hand suddenly stretched towards him did Misaki break out of his stupor. A flush enveloped his entire body as Usagi-san ran his fingers, trembling slightly, through Misaki's dark hair. The younger man's breath caught. His touch was so familiar, so gentle, and even in the confusion of it all, he understood what it meant. It was a farewell.

And then it was over, and his hand was gone, and Misaki plunged from warm to very, very cold all over.

"Take care, Misaki."

"Usa-!"

But he'd already turned away. The next thing Misaki knew, he was standing alone by the buffet table, the orchestra's cello groaning in his ears, watching the back of Usagi-san's silver head retreat into the sea of people. Wealthy people; intelligent people; _his_ people. He watched until he was out of sight. This time, he had left Misaki's world and returned to his own for good.

He wasn't Misaki's rabbit anymore.

The first tremors were already wracking his shoulders, and Misaki dug his teeth into his lower lip as he tried to still them, so hard he tasted blood. This should be good. He had neither wanted nor expected forgiveness, but this… Surely, it couldn't end like this…

"Takahashi!"

And then Kirishima-san had him firmly by the elbow, and he was dragging him away from the table and into the crowd, and Misaki was following numbly without protest, and he was lost again, submerged in bodies and unfamiliarity.

"C'mere, Onodera-san wants to meet you. Now's your time to sell yourself, rookie! You're in a great position here. Kyo Ijuuin's sub-editor…"

 _Sub_ , thought Misaki bitterly, barely listening. _Yeah, that's me. Sub. Lesser. Beneath._ Every single person in this room was above him. And Usagi-san was head and shoulders above them all. Misaki had done him a favour, all those months ago in September. He should and would have better.


	48. Chapter 48

Akihiko all but stumbled out of the side door, slamming the party away behind him. The gardens, thank God, were deserted. It was muggy outside despite the late hour, the heat accentuating the overpowering perfumes of the various flowerbeds, which had burst their banks and were now crawling free and wild over the lawn. The smell turned Akihiko's stomach. He zig-zagged blindly as he made his way deeper into the grounds, legs unsteady and burning eyes threatening to spill.

At some point his hands came into contact with rough tree bark, and he collapsed against the trunk as the dam burst. He sank to his haunches, uncaring if the grass stained his new suit, tears like molten lead dropping with rapid succession into the dirt.

 _I'll never see him again._

It was already too much. The absence of Misaki's arms around him, his lips against his, his smile every morning had pained Akihiko enough this past year, but the sudden prospect of never again laying eyes on his beloved, not even for a fleeting moment…

Grief knifed Akihiko's heart again, more sharply than ever, and he tipped his head back against the tree. The air was fresh and earthy as he drew it in, stilling himself. Opening his eyes- still wet but no longer raining- he followed the swirling pattern of the bark all the way up the shadowy trunk, seeing the markings twist and twine together along the boughs above him before they split into forked branches, again and again, before the leafy canopy engulfed them and they were lost.

Tonight was the last time. Akihiko just knew- They could both feel it as he stroked Misaki's hair in parting. Even if Misaki didn't know it himself yet, there was not a chance in all the stars above that he would ever allow Akihiko the privilege of his company again- Not after witnessing him up on that stage tonight. He and his one true heart were severed, once and for all.

Less than five minutes had passed, and yet the pain was excruciating. What Akihiko wouldn't give to have Misaki here in the shady, blue gardens with him, to hold him under the moonlight for just a moment, to feel those feather-like locks beneath his hand again and hear that sweet voice one final time… He could still hear it now.

 _You're… a good guy, Usagi-san._

They were almost laughable, his last words to the author. Earlier, when Misaki had bowed his head and apologised so earnestly, Akihiko- fool that he was- had dared hope that his love might be extending some kind of invitation to him. But he was glad that he hadn't. The words 'I forgive you' hadn't needed to be said, but the gentle rabbit Misaki had forgiven was not the same person who was about to stand in front of a hall of people and dishonour them both.

"'Good guy'," he huffed, watching the leaves above him stir in the same breeze that dried the tear tracks on his cheeks. It was sakura tree, he noticed; just like the one in his book, though it wasn't in bloom. "Oh, Misaki, what are you going to think when you see me up there?"

Maybe Misaki would prefer to see him swinging from that high-up bough like Hitomi Natsuko's brother, rather than professing his love to Sakae Yamato on that stage…

"Blubbing like a baby now?"

Akihiko sat upright with a start, although he recognised the voice before even catching sight of its owner. His tear-blurred eyes narrowed as a figure emerged from the shadow of the topiary bushes. A row of white teeth glinted through the darkness in a slanted, sardonic grin.

"You really are pathetic."

 _You're one to talk_ , thought Akihiko as he rose, grudgingly, to his feet. This asshole was the one spying on him from the bushes- Although, judging by the way Ijuuin wiped his sleeve across his mouth, it was probably not Akihiko that brought him out here but an inability to hold his liquor. Either way, it was pitiful.

The author managed to bite this comment back, however, replying instead, "At least I know how to mind my own business. When are you going to quit lurking around like a creep and just leave me alone?"

An odd bark of a laugh echoed through the gardens. "Oh, that's rich."

As Ijuuin moved, slowly, towards him, Akihiko noted the way he was almost teetering on his feet, as if one little push would send him crashing down. _Damn, he's pissed as hell._

"I'll stay away from you, Usami," said Ijuuin, staggering to a halt in front of him, "when _you_ stay away from Misaki."

Even slurred by the drink, his words carried a haughty authority. It raised the writer's hackles. Knowing- as they both did- that Misaki would be well out of his grasp from tonight onwards, the smart thing for Akihiko to do would be to remind Ijuuin of this very fact, throw him a few choice words and perhaps the finger, and close this ugly game of theirs for good- But Akihiko wasn't feeling smart at the moment. He was feeling like a rabid, caged dog. What he needed wasn't solitude, he realised, but something to tear into. Meat.

So he leaned back against the tree trunk, folding his arms.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you'd been appointed his personal bodyguard."

Ijuuin recognised the bait and swallowed it anyway; he stepped closer. In the clear moonlight, Akihiko could see just how dishevelled he was, his hair mussed and half of his smart shirt hanging loose from his belt. He advanced like something feral stalking its prey, retorting with a throaty growl.

"Someone has to protect him from people like you."

His foot caught on a gnarled root as he was talking, and he stumbled forwards, one outstretched hand slamming against the tree trunk beside Akihiko's face. The author's shoulders stiffened slightly, but he held his ground, even as Ijuuin leaned menacingly forwards until their faces were almost touching.

"I saw you, cosying up to him in there." His hot breath reeked of alcohol. Akihiko wrinkled his nose. "Just who do you think you- hic- are, Usami? How dare you even speak to Misaki, after what you've done? What you're about to do?"

The author's jaw clenched. He tried to hide the involuntary flicker of his cheek muscle, but Ijuuin's unfocused eyes were sharper than they looked. He stared at Akihiko with grim satisfaction, driving home the blow: "Don't you see how damn disrespectful that is? To the one you say you love?"

This time, Akihiko found he could neither strike back nor step down. He stood stone-still between Ijuuin and the tree, coarse bark digging into his back, refusing to break eye contact but unable to respond in any way. A cold breeze ruffled them both. Seeing that he had him in a deadlock, Ijuuin lifted a shaky arm- the one that wasn't braced against the tree trunk- and pointed towards the hotel building, where Akihiko could see elegant silhouettes gliding behind the glowing, yellow windows.

"Misaki is about to watch you tell everyone in that room how much you love a woman you barely know," he hissed, "as if the four years he spent with you never even existed. Just imagine how that's going to make him feel. And _you_ -" his head tilted, challenging, to the side, "- you have the audacity to keep toying around with him even now?"

"You think you know me, Ijuuin, but you don't," said Akihiko, finally prying his mouth open. Whatever was bubbling up inside him seemed to have a grip on his vocal chords. "You don't know why I'm doing this, or… or what will happen if I don't."

For a second or two, Ijuuin's eyebrows bunched in a confused manner. His hand slipped from the tree and he tottered back a step or two, wrapping the other arm around his middle; Akihiko wondered if he'd be crossing a line were he to kick the other man in the gut and watch him throw up again.

"I don't care," Ijuuin eventually managed to croak. He was no longer looking at Akihiko but clutching his head and stomach alike, his face so pale it was nearly luminous amidst the gloom. A blue eye peered at the author through strands of lank, dark hair.

"The amount of pain you caused Misaki… There's no excuse for that."

His last few words sounded strangulated, and then he actually did throw up. Or maybe he was just dry heaving; Akihiko couldn't tell in the light. Standing and watching his hated enemy as he doubled over and retched, Akihiko almost- _almost_ \- felt sorry for him. After all, he too had been tempted to numb himself with drink tonight, had his hangover from yesterday and Isaka-san's instructions not prevented it. And he knew Ijuuin's reasons. Maybe not in great detail, but Misaki's expression when he looked at the mangaka earlier had said it all: He'd blown it, too. He'd had an angel within his reach, and it had flown away leaving only misery. On this ground, at least, the author and the artist were united.

He didn't feel any less inclined to kick him, though.

"You don't understand…" Akihiko began, but trailed off. Why should he have to explain himself to this guy? It wasn't like he could even if he wanted to.

Panting, Ijuuin stood (sort of) upright. Akihiko didn't bother to hide his disgust as something dripped from the other man's chin. With noticeable effort, he staggered towards the author again, and when he opened his mouth Akihiko could both smell poison on his breath and hear it in his voice.

"It's _you_ who doesn't understand," he said. The dark head shook contemptuously from side to side. "If you could have seen Misaki when he was drunk on my couch, crying his heart out…"

"Drunk on your couch?" Akihiko echoed sharply, cutting the mangaka off. There was a pause as they eyed each other, and Akihiko gripped the sleeves of his suit. He knew he'd reacted too fast, too anxiously, but he couldn't help it; the image had sent terrible scenarios flitting one by one through his brain.

 _The way Misaki looked at him before…_ As the pieces slowly clicked into place, Akihiko felt his insides turn to ice blocks. _Could he have…?_

Seeing the author's expression, Ijuuin stretched his lips into a thin, scornful smile.

"I know what you're- hic- thinking. Well, you guessed right." The mangaka didn't even give the devastating blow time to sink in before he continued, "And do you know what? Even after I'd been there for him, and dried his tears, and given myself to him, every bit of me…

"He still said _your_ stupid nickname, Usami."

It was like being plunged underwater. Akihiko's breath left him, his already wide eyes went round, and he ceased to feel the cool summer breeze against his skin or hear the screech of night-time cicadas in his ears. His heart pulsed heavily, struggling to accommodate so many aches at once.

Someone else touched his Misaki.

He was crying and drunk.

Ijuuin replaced him.

He said 'Usagi-san'?

Crying and drunk.

Misaki called for him… For _him_. Usagi-san.

Ijuuin, too, was silent for a moment- Revelling, it seemed, in the agony he'd inflicted, which must have clearly shown on his rival's face. Their eyes found each other once again, and Akihiko's burned whilst Ijuuin's glinted coldly.

"You're still hurting him." The words were drunkenly melded but no less cutting. "That's why, if you- hic- if you truly cared about him, you'd stay far away from him until he's finally able to let go of you."

Before he answered, Akihiko closed his eyes, clamped his mouth shut and inhaled deeply through his nose. To this day, only one person had ever seen him cry and he wished to keep it that way. "Maybe you're right.

"But let me ask you something, Ijuuin," he said, spitting out the man's name like something rancid. In his intoxicated state, Ijuuin had apparently failed to notice the squaring and tightening of Akihiko's shoulders, the heaving of his sides, the slight trembling of his arms and fists- But he certainly noticed when the author suddenly pushed away from the tree, taking two swift steps towards him. The sneer he'd been wearing shrank into something borderline nervous, his already pallid face paling by a couple of shades under Akihiko's furious glower.

"If _you_ truly care about Misaki, why the _fuck_ would you take advantage of him while he was crying and drunk?!"

Two cicadas detached themselves from the tree trunk and buzzed off into the night, disturbed by the shout. Someone might come out of the hotel at any moment to see what all the racket was about, but Akihiko didn't care. All that concerned him was what in the hell this _fucker_ had done to his Misaki while he was so vulnerable.

Refusing to back off, Ijuuin grimaced.

"Why do people always use that phrase?" he murmured, seemingly to himself. Returning his attention to Akihiko, he pointed a finger at the author's face, jabbing it towards him with every sentence. "I never took advantage. I took _him_. You still had hold of him, and it was hurting him. So I took him for myself, if only to save him from you."

Akihiko didn't waver. "And he was okay with that?"

This time, Ijuuin's silence spoke for him. The tremors coursing through Akihiko increased as they stood inches apart, glaring at each other. "You…" He couldn't finish. There were no words vile enough to do his hatred for this man justice.

He imagined- unable to stop himself- the face in front of him leering over Misaki. His Misaki, exposed and confused, weeping in that heart-breaking way of his while that sick…. fuck played with him as he pleased. He thought of Misaki crying out his special name in the arms of another, succumbing unknowingly to the very same hands that had torn Akihiko's world apart.

It was more than he could bear.

"You took him alright, you bastard," he said finally, having to grind the words out through his clenched teeth. "You took him _against his will_. And yet you're standing there talking to _me_ about disrespecting him?"

Ijuuin' features were stony. "I treated him how he deserves to be treated," he proclaimed- rendering Akihiko beside himself- and looked the other man over like a smear of dirt. "Which is more than can ever be said for you."

It was suddenly hard for Akihiko to breath; his burning rage was almost suffocating. Ijuuin watched as his trembles grew into violent shakes, and his mouth twisted into a mocking smirk.

"Go ahead, Usami," he goaded, spreading his arms wide in invitation. "Hit me. Hit me like you hit that Sumi brat when you couldn't control yourself. Go nuts. Then maybe Misaki will finally understand what kind of person you really are."

He was grinning now, white teeth gleaming wickedly as Akihiko's fisted hands locked, clenching so tightly that his nails broke the soft skin of his palms. His breaths came in shallow, rattling bursts. He wanted nothing more than to take Ijuuin up on the offer; to grab him by the collar, pull back his fist and channel all the fury, all the anguish, all the heartache and frustration and injustice of the last year of his life into one almighty, shattering hit that would wipe the mangaka's smug smile away forever. His right hand- his punching hand- twitched impatiently at the thought, practically spasming by his side.

Yet by his side it remained.

As Ijuuin continued to taunt him, Akihiko forced a long breath of air from his lungs and- even though it was like pushing against a fierce gale- uttered a strained "No."

One of Ijuuin's eyebrows arched. "Coward?"

"I don't need to hit you," Akihiko replied. His fist was still quivering with bloodlust, but he held it. He was a writer, he reminded himself; words were his weapon.

"Because if you loved Misaki like you say you do, the very fact of what you've done to him would be so unbearably painful that nothing could possibly compare to it."

Ijuuin snorted. "I'm no worse than you."

Though this sent another bolt of anger searing through Akihiko, he managed to supress it, responding only with a grim headshake.

"You're wrong. I may have made mistakes, but I would _never_ harm Misaki on purpose. Ever."

The dark shadow that fell over Ijuuin's bleary, blue eyes did not deter Akihiko. He took another step forwards, forcing the other man back.

"What you did was not treating him how he deserves." He continued to stalk, forcing Ijuuin further back with every step, gradually picking up speed as the pent-up adrenaline rushed around his rage-fuelled body, blood roaring with his ears and mingling with the screeching cicadas, the muffled music and voices of the main hall, an insufferable din over which he had to shout, "What Misaki deserves is somebody who _really_ cares, who _really_ respects him, and who would never deliberately violate him!"

The pain exploded across Akihiko's jaw, his teeth rattling as bright, white stars burst behind his eyelids. He stumbled back into the sakura tree.

When he looked up, blinking, Ijuuin was lowering his fist. Sweat was beading on the mangaka's forehead as he panted, the full comprehension of what he'd done seeming to only just dawn on him. Rubbing his jaw, Akihiko tasted the metallic tang of blood on his tongue, and scoffed.

"Unbelievable."

A snarl built in Ijuuin's throat. At that moment, however, there was a sudden swell in activity coming from the main hall, and they both turned their heads. Peering through the large, arched windows, Akihiko saw that the crowd within was beginning to gather in front of the stage, where the proud figure of Isaka-san was just visible. His stomach writhed with dread.

Ijuuin turned back to face him, the smirk reappearing. "Looks like it's- hic- almost time for your little performance.

"Wonder what Misaki will have to say about that."

Scowling at the mess of a man, Akihiko wanted to spit at him, but refrained; even if he was going to completely tarnish what little remaining dignity he still possessed by partaking in his father's scheme tonight, he could still walk away from here knowing that he was, at least, a better man than this one.

So he did exactly that. Without a single word to the mangaka, Akihiko strode past him, resisting the urge to bump against his shoulder as he did so. Let him think of Akihiko what he would. Whilst neither man could claim to have won their silent, year-long feud, Akihiko still felt that somehow, by leaving Ijuuin out here with nothing, he had beaten him. He made his way across the neatly-cut grass without looking back, uncaring of the deep blue eyes boring into him from behind, and let the twisted topiary shroud him from view as he headed for the hotel. For his life sentence.

Over the rustle of leaves in the late-night breeze, he heard a jeering cry float after him.

"You're a disgusting pig, Usami."

"It takes one to know one," he called back, trampling a stray rose beneath his shoe.

* * *

 **I don't know why I bully Ijuuin so much in this. I actually quite like him as a character. XD**


	49. Chapter 49

The upper ranks of Onodera publishing turned out to be not quite as scary as they looked. Kirishima-san- sensing the rookie's nerves with his fatherly radar- kept Misaki quite literally under his wing for the next half hour or so, one arm draped supportively over his shoulders as _Japun_ 's youngest editor introduced himself. The surprisingly friendly Onodera-san seemed to take a liking to him. After a fairly promising conversation with the director, Misaki's hands had stopped trembling, his pockets were packed with business cards, and he felt a little better. A little.

"So far, so good," Kirishima-san said once they were alone. He winked at his subordinate.

All Misaki managed in response was a weak smile; he felt like he'd been trapped in the crowded hall for days. Before he could say anything, a sudden squeal of microphone feedback drew a collective wince from the guests, who turned their heads as one. Up on the gigantic stage, super-host Isaka-san stood fiddling with the mic (wearing a suit that looked like it cost more than Misaki's yearly salary). He grinned sheepishly at his audience.

"Whoops!" he chuckled, but wasted no time in lavishing his beaming smile upon the crowd. An abundance of flowers framed him on either side, and camera flashes lit up his face like a lamp.

"Well, now that I have everyone's attention…" he cleared his throat. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! On behalf of Marukawa Shoten, I'd like to thank you all for attending this little party of ours. We are truly honoured to host so many highly reputable guests tonight!"

Polite clapping. A few palpable cringes from the less 'reputable' attendees. The director waited a moment or two before continuing- Practically exuding sparkles as he did so, "And speaking of highly reputable people, please allow me to introduce the lady of the evening, the brilliant Mieko Nakajima-sensei!"

As the author strode onto stage in her silver-sequined dress, the onlookers burst into fuller, more genuine applause, and though Misaki joined in he was inwardly groaning. This could only mean one thing: speeches. If there was anything that would only serve to push Misaki over the edge tonight, it was having to grit his teeth through hour after hour of tedious, pretentious _speeches_.

Sure enough, Nakajima took her place at the microphone, and all the enormous cameras swivelled towards her. The crowd began to migrate towards the foot of the stage. As they brushed past him, Misaki hung back beside the chief editor, coughing.

"Um, Kirishima-san?" he said, "I know this is really rude of me, but would you mind if I went home now? I'm not feeling too good," he added, hating himself for taking advantage of the older man's sympathetic nature, but hating the prospect of staying here a minute longer even more.

Kirishima-san barely noticed, anyway; he was busying scanning the mass of people, presumably for Ijuuin-sensei, who was supposed to be one of the people making the tedious, pretentious speeches. He gave Misaki's hair a distracted ruffle.

"Hey, no problem, Takahashi. You did well tonight."

Misaki felt another harsh jab of guilt. With all the mingling they'd been doing, he still hadn't found a good opportunity to bring up Shizuku's papers with his boss. To leave now without saying anything, he realised, would be a whole new level of cowardice.

Under the cover of Nakajima-sensei's amplified voice, Misaki took a deep breath. It was now or never.

"Sir," he said, touching Kirishima-san's arm. "Sir, there's something-"

"Misaki… Wait a minute…"

The editor's blood ran cold at the sound of that voice, but he turned around on reflex even so. His eyes widened when he saw Ijuuin swaying through the moving crowd towards him. The mangaka looked _awful_ , his suit lopsided, dirt clinging to his shoes and pant cuffs. It was even worse than his slumps. Those dark blue eyes were fixated on Misaki, staring intently through lank locks of hair as he came closer.

"Ijuuin-sensei?" Misaki stammered, stepping instinctively backwards. He nearly reeled at the pungent, alcoholic fumes the mangaka was emitting- detectable even from a distance- and covered his nose. "How much have you had to drink?"

Beside him, Kirishima-san brought a hand to his curly hair in frustration. "For God's sake, Kyo, I asked you not to overdo it with the booze for _one_ evening. How are you supposed to make your speech in that state? And where have you _been_ , anyway?"

His artist ignored him, stumbling to a halt in front of his sub-editor. "Misaki, don't- hic- go home yet," he said, his voice gravelly. He was slouching so much that his face was almost level with Misaki's, who saw that Ijuuin's skin was looking awfully green and waxy.

"Um… Why not?"

"'Cause," said Ijuuin, suppressing a belch. The hand pressed to his lips muffled his answer. "There's something I want you to- hic- see."

Amongst other things, he seemed to have lost control of his own volume. Most of the other guests were completely silent now, listening to Nakajima-sensei give her speech, and a few at the back of the gathering were already starting to glare. Cheeks flushing anew and practically imploding with the need to escape from there, Misaki rubbed the back of his head.

"I dunno, sensei, I'm really tired…" he mumbled, trying not very hard to keep the impatience out of his tone. Kirishima-san was in a similar state, tapping his smart shoe. The crowd laughed at something Nakajima said, and Ijuuin's eyes narrowed momentarily towards the stage before directing themselves back at Misaki; beneath the drunken haze, there was something sharp gleaming within them as he grabbed the younger man's arm.

"You don't want to miss this. Trust me."

Misaki frowned, tugging unsuccessfully away from his grasp. "And why would I do that?"

"Come _on_ , Kyo, it's almost time."

With nothing but a brief scowl in Kirishima-san's direction, Ijuuin tightened his grip around Misaki. His urgency was almost frightening.

"Jus' come with me," he said, pulling as Misaki dug his heels into the carpet, the blood-vesseled whites of his eyes showing. "Please."

" _No_. I don't want to go anywhere with you. I need to be away from everyone- Alone."

That was how Misaki should have answered him. But Nakajima-sensei was wrapping up her speech, and Kirishima-san was starting to grind his teeth, and Ijuuin's fingers were cutting into Misaki's arm, and this was a silly argument anyway, he shouldn't prolong it, he'd already been such a bother this evening… So he heaved a sigh, let his rigid body go limp, and said, "Fine.

"But this had better be good, Ijuuin-sensei."

A long row of teeth revealed themselves. "Just you- hic- wait, Misaki."

* * *

Backstage was buzzing by the time Akihiko arrived, slouching in through the rear door. His hands were still now, but he kept them balled up in his pockets just in case. He'd had to pace up and down the hallway outside until the rage subsided.

Sullenly, he looked around. Amidst the various runners, fetchers and carriers, Fuyuhiko was there, sticking his nose up Yamato's ass (not literally, of course, but he wasn't far off). The author's future father-in-law was wearing a white suit with a bow tie, his ratty front teeth protruding slightly as he chuckled at something Fuyuhiko was saying. As for his fiancée, she was nowhere to be seen.

 _Maybe she's made a run for it_ , Akihiko thought. Heck, he hoped so.

He noticed the laptop in the same way one would notice a slap to the face. It lay open and unmanned on a small table, the flash-drive with Isaka-san's slideshow sticking out of it. A black cable wound and twisted, snake-like, across the floorboards and through a gap in the curtains, and Akihiko knew it was hooked up to that abominably enormous TV screen. The entire party- no, wait, there were live news cameras, too- the entire _country_ was going to see those photographs.

Misaki was going to see those photographs.

Akihiko didn't even have time to shudder before Fuyuhiko noticed him. He hurried over immediately, frowning faintly.

" _There_ you are." The lines in his forehead deepened as he took in his son; the grass stains smearing his suit, the still-oozing split at the corner of his slightly swollen lip. "What happened to you?"

Akihiko's tongue darted guiltily over the wound (of all the places that asshole could have punched him…) and he looked away. "Nothing."

For a moment, his father looked like he might question him; something that could almost be described as concern hardened on his brow. But then, a swell of applause from the other side of the curtain as Nakajima finished up her speech told them time was short, and Fuyuhiko clicked his tongue in annoyance, opting to rather brusquely dust off Akihiko's blazer instead.

"Honestly, why can't you stay neat for even a few hours?" he muttered. As he tugged at Akihiko's necktie, the younger Usami got the sudden, unnerving sense that he'd been hurled back twenty years, to one of those family parties where he'd be forced to dress up smart so everyone could coo over him. He felt a helpless child under the lock of his parents all over again.

His and Fuyuhiko's eyes met. When he saw the look his son was giving him, something changed the older man's expression. His hand left Akihiko's tie and rested on his shoulder, strangely tender.

"You won't regret this, son."

Akihiko said nothing. Sighing, Fuyuhiko withdrew.

"Go and wait in the wings," he ordered, waving to the right of the stage. "When Ryuichiro-kun gives you the cue-"

"I know what to do."

The frown reappeared. "Good," said Fuyuhiko after a pause. He turned to re-join Yamato, but stopped halfway there to look pointedly back at his son.

"Make sure you don't let us down."

Scowling at the back of his father's suit jacket, Akihiko wished he could make some kind of witty retort- something to let Fuyuhiko know that he hadn't ground him down yet. But he _had_ , and they both knew it. Akihiko could only stand there as he watched the two old men, stewing powerlessly in the chaos that surrounded him, before finally deciding it wasn't even worth it anyway. He dropped his shoulders in silent submission, heading to the right as instructed. It was quieter there, anyway.

Grit crunched and floorboards creaked under his shoes as he sauntered over to the wing, pushing unapologetically past one of the runners. It was empty save for some battered equipment. For a five star hotel, it was surprisingly dingy back here- Not that it really mattered, Akihiko supposed. As long as the audience saw only flowers and sparkles, who cared what it looked like behind the stage?

Hooks with thick coils of rope fastened to them lined the wall, and Akihiko leaned beside on of them to wait. Already, his head was hurting. It didn't want to do this. It wanted a cigarette. It wanted to go home.

He couldn't see the crowd from here, but their applause and laughter leaked through the heavy curtains, along with Isaka-san's booming voice. The scripted lines were familiar; he was about to give Akihiko's cue. A chill ran up the author's spine, and he was pretty sure it wasn't just the cold brick wall behind him.

Ijuuin's words kept resurfacing in his mind. He tried to push them to one side, but the lingering taste of blood in his mouth wouldn't allow it. Akihiko cursed himself for not ending that stupid fight before it began. This would be so much easier if he didn't keep imagining that voice every five seconds…

 _Usagi-san._

In the throes of ecstasy, in the arms of a different man, and he still said _Akihiko's_ name. The author might have been happy were he not so immensely guilt-ridden. All that time he spent wallowing in self-pity, thinking his beloved one had forgotten him, when really, Misaki had been holding on just as desperately as he himself. It tore pieces from his heart. Even so far apart, Akihiko couldn't stop hurting him.

Well, it ended tonight. The author watched the shadows from behind the curtain dance across the wall, breathing deeply, steeling himself. He wanted to run away. But if he had to become a wicked, repulsive monster before Misaki's eyes for the boy to move on from him for good, then so be it. He would do what was, without a doubt, the most shameful thing he would ever do in his life- more shameful than anything he'd done with Hiroki, Takahiro, Sumi- and he would do it in front of a million watching people.

He would pry himself from Misaki's grasp.

Out in the great hall, the guests' laughter was loud and hearty. Isaka-san was really hamming it up. Any second now, he was going to say Akihiko's name, and he'd have to walk out there and stand under those stage lights and tell everyone how much he loved a cold, blank husk of a woman, whose voice he had yet to even hear.

He stood upright, pushing off the wall with both hands. He straightened his spine and pulled back his shoulders, his chin raised, staring squarely at the folds of velvet curtain through which he was to enter, in the same way a man on death row would stare at a waiting noose. A slow, deep breath filled his lungs.

 _Goodbye then, my love,_ said Akihiko silently, wishing despite himself that Misaki, wherever he was out there, could hear him somehow. _Consider this my punishment for all I've put you through_.

Then his name blared like a clap of thunder from the microphone, and he stepped forwards, throwing back the curtain and letting the harsh, artificial stage light engulf him.

* * *

Ijuuin dragged Misaki along the outskirts of the gathered guests, past the long table and the ruins of the once grand buffet, all the way out of the hall and around to the rear stage door. A pair of hotel security guards barred the entrance, but after a brief fumble for the mangaka's special pass, they were in. The sub-editor blinked and looked around, baffled, as Ijuuin somehow managed to manoeuvre them both through the madness of backstage in his drunken state. He pulled Misaki into the left stage wing, where a few other artists he vaguely recognised were waiting for their turn in the spotlight.

"I don't understand what I'm doing here, sensei," he said, whispering flustered apologies as Ijuuin pushed carelessly through the other people. The mangaka ignored him, furtively pulling one of the blue curtains aside. A wedge of bright light sliced across the gloomy wing, illuminating the stares and frowns of the others, and an embarrassed Misaki tugged at the man's suit jacket.

"Sensei, you shouldn't-"

"Shh," Ijuuin replied. He drew Misaki forwards with one arm, positioning him in front of the gap. "Watch."

Unable, by this point, to do anything but comply, Misaki grudgingly turned his attention to the stage. He had to stifle a sneeze; the velvet curtains against his face were full of dust. Squinting through the near-blinding stage lights, he made note of what he could see: flowers, a small section of the audience, more flowers, Isaka-san and Nakajima-sensei, flashing cameras, and that enormous screen hanging above them all. The heavy fabric flanking his view obscured any other details.

He didn't get this. What was he supposed to be looking at?

"Sensei," he said, exasperated as he ducked back behind the curtain, "I don't-"

But once again, Ijuuin cut him off. " _Listen_ ," he slurred.

Grinding his teeth, Misaki poked his face through the opening again. Isaka-san was clowning around for the cameras, cracking joke after terrible joke, and what little of the audience he could see were either groaning or shaking with laughter. However, when the director noticed Nakajima- who was starting to look a little put out at having lost most of the limelight at her own party- he sobered up with a cough, throwing together a hasty congratulations together with a quick promo for her book.

It might have been Misaki's imagination, but Isaka-san seemed kind of… indifferent, given that it was the leading lady he was talking to. It was almost as if there were something more important than Nakajima on his mind.

"… And I'm not the only one who wishes to commend Nakajima-sensei for her enormous achievement," the director was saying, and now he was starting to look excited again. He puffed his chest proudly forwards in front of the microphone. "A few of my most esteemed artists would also like to say a few words, the first of whom I have no doubt you're all familiar with, as last year's winner of the International Prize for Literary Artistry…"

Misaki's head lifted a little. "Hm?"

The crowd was already twittering excitedly, and the cameramen readied themselves as Isaka-san gestured, with a broad sweep of the hand, to the right of the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Marukawa Shoten's most highly acclaimed novelist and my good friend, Akihiko Usami."

A roar of applause burst forth from the audience as the author himself took to the stage.

"Usagi-san…?" Misaki wasn't exactly surprised to see him- Isaka-san never passed up an opportunity to flaunt his most popular writer- but he was rather surprised when two others followed him onstage. One was an elderly, bespectacled gentleman in a white suit who Misaki didn't recognise, and the other was a beaming Usagi-chichi.

Misaki made a face at him as he stood with the other man at the side of the stage. Since when did _he_ care about Usagi-san's writing career?

The hulking news cameras followed Usagi-san as he strode across the stage, bedecked in a very unfamiliar, amiable smile as he waved to the cheering spectators. It didn't suit him. Misaki, though he hadn't cared for them before, was suddenly very glad of the copious flowers as they kept him partially hidden from view; he couldn't stop staring. He'd seen Usagi-san behave this way in public before, but he could never get used to it.

"Good evening, everyone," the author said, taking Isaka-san's place at the microphone. Misaki noticed he was even standing differently- Animated and perky, not his usual careless, languid posture. Add acting to Usagi-san's extensive list of talents. "As always, it's a pleasure and a privilege to be here with all of you.

"First of all, I'd like to offer my wholehearted congratulations to Nakajima-sensei for her award, and to express my admiration for her latest masterpiece, which I can personally guarantee to be one of the most ingenious works of Japanese literature of the year…"

His rich voice poured from the speakers, smooth as silk, and an immediate hush fell over the crowd. Written or spoken, Usagi-san's words never failed to put others under a spell. Emotions were stirring within Misaki just watching him, the handsome profile of his face, the way he swept his silver hair from his eyes, twinkling in that warm way of his…

Angrily, he whipped his head back towards the mangaka.

"Why are you making me watch this, Ijuuin-sensei?" he demanded, struggling to keep his voice down. "Are you trying to make fun of me?"

Ijuuin's hand was still gripping Misaki shoulder, holding him in place. "Just you wait, Misaki…" he said again, in an odd, almost sing-song voice. He turned his editor's head back towards the stage.

"… Certainly, nobody deserves the prestigious Yomiuri Prize more than Nakajima-sensei," Usagi-san was saying, "who I congratulate again and thank for allowing me to be here this evening."

He gestured to his fellow author, prompting another, significantly smaller round of applause. Nakajima's smile was now looking very tight-lipped, but she nodded curtly, adjusting her sequin dress. Usagi-san waited a moment or two before he spoke again.

"I say this," he said, "because I'm about to do something rather cheeky, and use this opportunity, if I may, to make a little announcement of my own."

An intrigued murmur rippled through the audience. "I have some rather exciting news, you see," Usagi-san explained, "and I can't think of a better time to share it than when I'm standing here in front of so many honoured guests."

Misaki's brow furrowed. "What's he talking about…?" Already an inexplicable uneasiness was creeping over him, and he pushed the curtains further apart, peering at the author in confusion. This wasn't like him at all. Was Usagi-chichi behind it? Was that why he was here?

From what Misaki could see, Fuyuhiko was smiling as he watched his son, but it wasn't in any way a proud, fatherly smile. It was something else entirely, something Misaki didn't like the look of one bit.

Before he could even begin to make sense of anything, however, the sound of Usagi-san's voice snapped Misaki's attention back to him.

"So, without further ado, I'd like to invite someone to join me up here. Someone very special to me." Still smiling, Usagi-san turned and looked towards the other side of the stage, away from Misaki. The editor watched, perplexed, as he removed the microphone from its stand, brought it to his lips and said,

"Sakae, dear, if you will?"

She emerged like a slowly blooming bloodstain. Scarlet hair. Crimson lips. A wine-coloured gown. They all seeped from the shadows as she stepped onto the stage and walked, skirts billowing, rubies twinkling, towards Usagi-san. The red woman. The woman from the photograph.

Misaki's breath cut off. _What is_ she _doing here?!_

Excited whispers rose as she approached Usagi-san. The author extended his free hand to her- What?- and she joined him centre stage, standing close to his side.

"The lovely Sakae Yamato, ladies and gentlemen," said Usagi-san into the mic.

Yet again, the guests applauded, and Misaki felt his heart thunder so hard he was sure the microphones would pick it up. He couldn't believe his eyes. Surely, Usagi-san wouldn't have… He _couldn't_ have. But there he and that woman were, clasping each other's hands, and even more incomprehensible was that Usagi-san was looking at her so warmly, so tenderly, like…

Like he used to look at Misaki.

Usagi-san, oblivious to the popping pair of eyes that stared at him from the wings, smiled softly at the woman beside him.

"Sakae," he said, keeping the mic raised, "you and I have known each other for over a decade now, and I couldn't have asked for a more magical ten years by your side."

What, what, _what_?

"And, although we've kept things quiet for the sake of privacy up until now, I think now's the right time to tell the world about… Well, about us."

The crowd was now awash with anticipation, and the cameras were snapping their shutters like there was no tomorrow. Meanwhile, Misaki was practically ripping the curtains apart in his distress.

"What the…?"

Behind him, a second body pressed itself into Misaki's back.

"You see what he's doing?" Ijuuin whispered to him. The reek of spirits on him was overwhelmingly strong. "He's manipulating them all, Misaki. That's what he does. He's a manipulator."

Misaki shook his head. "But this doesn't make any sense…"

"And to help us do that," Usagi-san went on, so sparkly and chipper that Misaki barely recognised him anymore, "I believe our host has put together a little something for us. Isaka-san?"

He glanced over at the director, who gave a thumbs up before signalling to someone backstage. A noise close by had Misaki turning, and through the dimness behind the curtain, he saw someone tap a few keys on a nearby laptop he'd failed to notice.

Ijuuin was grinning now. He rested his chin on Misaki's shoulder. "Watch this."

Misaki did watch. He watched with eyes as round as two green marbles as the chandelier above the great hall dimmed, and with a mechanical whirr, the gigantic monitor behind the figures on stage began to descend, slowly, ominously, to the audience's level. The orchestra, at Isaka-san's command, switched to a different melody. Their music filled the hall, and the screen glowed to life, cameras clicking and people craning their necks as it lit up to display… a photograph.

Something Misaki had never told anyone was that, back when they were still living together, he'd had a very shameful and secretive habit of perusing Usagi-san's photo albums whenever the author wasn't around. He told himself it was only fair, seeing as his boyfriend had a whole file full of _his_ childhood pictures. But truthfully, there was just something about Usagi-san's various younger forms that Misaki found so damn lovable. Especially in the high school photos; Usagi-san was so slim and gorgeous as a sexily pouting teenager, his lavender eyes a little larger and dewier, clad in a pleasing range of handsome shirts and sweaters and tailored trousers. Once Misaki had even smuggled a few of these pictures to work and photocopied them, composing his own little private collection.

As a result of this little secret of his, the photograph on the screen now was one Misaki recognised quite well. It showed a young Usagi-san in his school uniform, smiling ever so faintly at the camera mid-walk. There was the high school building in the background and the oak tree behind him, just as Misaki remembered.

Something that had definitely _not_ been there before, however, was the also young and uniformed redhead standing beside him.

The editor's jaw went slack. "Oh my God."

"As you can all see, Sakae and I met during our high school years," Usagi-san was saying, raising his voice a little over the music and the excited buzz of the crowd. He gave the woman next to him another one of those smiles, the ones that used to be reserved exclusively for Misaki. "And as cliché as it sounds, I knew from the moment I first laid eyes on her that she was the one for me…"

From the audience came a chorus of 'awww's, and even a few squeals as the slideshow moved on to more photos. Each one was the same: an adolescent Usagi-san, and a similarly aged Sakae photoshopped in somewhere. Misaki felt like he was going to be sick.

"You have got to be kidding me," he said, to no-one in particular.

"Now do you understand?" Ijuuin rasped into his ear. The editor could feel his slightly stubbled cheek against his own. "This is who he really is, Misaki. These are his true colours."

"No…" The photoshopped pictures gave way to new ones, pictures Misaki didn't recognise. Pictures of Usagi-san holding hands with that woman, laughing loudly, so unlike himself. Pictures of a man Misaki didn't know.

 _What are you doing, Usagi, what are you_ doing _?_

They were laughing and holding hands now, actually, smiling nostalgically at the photos, but Misaki could have sworn Usagi-san's smile was more of a pained grimace. Or maybe that was just what he wanted it to be. _Needed_ it to be. "No, this can't be right."

Nevertheless, Usagi-san was still talking about Sakae into the microphone. The cameras were all focused on her now; she shrank coyly away from their flashes, huddling closer to the author's side, and Misaki felt a strike of indignation as he placed his free arm around her shoulders. Just what was that bastard bunny playing at?!

On the opposite side of the stage, steel grey eyes were watching the author intently. Both Fuyuhiko and the other man had sly little smiles on their faces, nodding approvingly to themselves as Usagi-san talked. Misaki ground his teeth.

Urgently, he whirled to face Ijuuin-sensei, forgetting to care for a moment that he was a creep and/or drunk. "It's his dad," he said, almost desperate. Like he was trying to convince himself. "That's the only possible explanation. He forced him to get engaged to that woman, and now he's forcing him to lie about it!"

That had to be it. Usagi-san would _never_ do this himself… Right?

Having been pushed from his spot on Misaki's shoulder, Ijuuin was now frowning down at him. "Misaki, don't you get it?" he said, bending so that their foreheads were almost touching. "His father never forced him to do- hic- _anything_. He's marrying that woman for his own selfish reasons, and nothing else."

 _Bullshit_. Misaki refused to believe it. But then, why was Usagi-san up there saying all that stuff? Surely, his rabbit would never stoop this low, no matter what threats his father made. So then…

 _ **He's lied before. Why wouldn't he do it again?**_

"No…" Misaki mumbled again. His mind was reeling. He wouldn't really… Not his Usagi-san. He repeated that inside his head until he was sure enough to say it out loud. "No, he wouldn't. He told me his dad-"

"He _lied_ ," said Ijuuin. He held Misaki by his upper arms, completely ignoring the three other people in the wing with them, whose expressions were now ranging from confused to extremely uncomfortable. "That's all he ever does. He twists the truth around so that people think he's the good guy, just like he's doing now.

"You of all people should know that, Misaki," he murmured. Only half of his face was visible, and his blue eyes glinted through the darkness as they pierced Misaki's.

The younger man felt like he was falling through tree branches, but he couldn't figure out which one to grab. He knew he had no reason to trust Ijuuin, not after everything he'd done, but… did he actually have a point?

Had he simply been sucked in by Usagi-san's acting skills again?

Was he just as stupid and gullible as the audience that were cooing over those ridiculous photos?

Anguished, he pulled back the curtain again, praying that the scene on the other side would magically change. No such luck. Usagi-san was still drawling into the mic, clasping the red woman to him, and the slideshow was still showing picture after phony picture. Misaki bunched up the velvet curtain in his fist, dismayed.

"Usagi-san…"

Weight on his shoulder again. "Look at him up there," Ijuuin said, his breath hot in Misaki's ear. "Lying through his teeth. You see how _easy_ it is for him?"

Seeing Usagi-san standing there in front of the cameras, some strange woman on his arm, a sleazy grin on his face as he spouted continuous nonsense, Misaki couldn't deny the mangaka was right. The lies came to him effortlessly.

"It's because everything that comes out of his mouth is a lie," Ijuuin went on, as if reading his thoughts. His voice was dry and husky. "He lied to your brother, he lied to you, and now he's lying to the whole world."

Again, Misaki slowly shook his head. It felt dazed. "I don't believe it…"

Next to his ear there was an irritated huff. "Then what _do_ you believe, Misaki?" Ijuuin demanded. His arms snaked around the smaller man and held him fast. " _Who_ do you believe? Me, or him?"

 _Me, or him?_

 _Him, or me?_

 _Sensei, or Usagi-san?_

All of a sudden, Misaki couldn't breathe. Ijuuin's arms were too tight around his chest. His body was too hot and close to Misaki's, and the cameras kept flashing like lightning, dazzling him, lighting up Fuyuhiko's smug, smirking face on the other side of the stage, Usagi-san's mask of deception, the painted porcelain face of that woman as she clung to the novelist, like she _knew_ him, like she'd just wiped away the four years Misaki spent by his side and replaced them with those stupid photographs. She filled Misaki's vision, tainting it with red, and he screwed his eyes shut against the burning hue, biting his lip so hard that blood spilled into his mouth, red to match.

That was _not_ his rabbit out there. He was… He was…

Ijuuin made a strangled, startled noise as he was violently shoved away from his editor, stumbling backwards until he hit the brick wall behind him.

"Enough of this."

"Misaki? Misaki, where're you- hic- going?"


	50. Chapter 50

Fucking hell, this was happening. He was actually doing it.

Usually, when Akihiko gave speeches and the like, it bothered him more than he let on. Nerves were an inherent aspect of human nature, after all; no amount of gorgeous grinning and fine clothes and sexy masculinity could completely eradicate them. Akihiko, when he stepped out in front of any audience, was always acutely aware of their eyes, every single pair of them, burrowing into him as they kept track of his every move.

But tonight at the Teito, standing with Sakae Yamato's shoulder in one hand and a microphone in the other as he swept the audience off their feet with his words, Akihiko could only feel one. One pair of beautiful, big green eyes. Where they were, he didn't know, but he knew that they were watching him, and he knew that they were brimming with betrayal and disgust.

 _I'm sorry, Misaki._

The quivering song of the violins down below grated on him, and it was too hot under the lights; the mic was threatening to slip from his sweaty hand. Keeping the façade intact was a lot harder than usual tonight. Still, he managed not to let his smile falter as he looked down at his fiancée, drawing her closer. Her hair smelled of chemicals.

 _Please forget about me._

"The years I've spent with this woman have been the happiest of my life," he said, his voice seeming too large as it echoed throughout the hall. Sakae gave him another one of her empty smiles. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw both of their fathers watching gleefully.

 _Please move on with your life._

Was that her he could feel shaking, or himself? He licked his dry lips. "And now," Watching the slideshow carefully, waiting for exactly the right moment… "I'm delighted to tell you all that I have finally asked Sakae the question I've been wanting to ask for a long, long time…"

 _Please be happy._

The orchestra swelled to a crescendo, and Akihiko, his face aching from smiling, let go of Sakae to sweep his hand towards the monitor with a flourish, bracing himself for the impact of the cheers, gasps and squeals of delight…

Which never came, because at that moment, the screen went black. Akihiko and Sakae were left standing side-by-side with frozen grins plastered to their faces, the final photo in the slideshow- that last nail in their shared coffin- left unhammered.

Still holding the microphone to his lips, Akihiko blinked. "Um."

As the music dwindled and the guests descended into expectant silence, Isaka-san grabbed one of the spare mics, coughing awkwardly.

"Uh, sorry, everyone, we seem to be having a few technical difficulties…"

Meanwhile, a very irritated Fuyuhiko was pinching the bridge of his nose. "Well, hurry and fix it, Ryuichiro-kun."

"Right." Sticking his head into the wing, Isaka-san pulled back the curtain, calling backstage. "Uh, can someone- Huh?"

A whirring sound cut him off as the monitor, just as quickly as it had shut off, flickered back to life. Hurriedly, Akihiko cleared his throat and readied the microphone, although it seemed rather pointless now, since you'd have to have a brain the size of a walnut not to have guessed what he was going to say. Were he not feeling so sick, he might have snorted at his father's expense; all that fuss and preparation for an anti-climax.

He was rather puzzled, therefore, when a loud, collective gasp arose from the audience even so. Masking his confusion with a sheepish smile, he said into the mic, "Yes, as you could probably tell before we were interrupted there, Sakae and I-" He turned to look at the screen as he said this, and that was when he stopped. Oh. _Oh._

The photo of him proposing wasn't there. That wasn't what they were gasping at. Rather, they were gasping at the video now filling the monitor in its place, blown up so large that nobody could possibly deny it; the video of a blurry, pixelated yet unmistakable Fuyuhiko Usami, slapping an equally blurry Misaki Takahashi across the face on loop.

Akihiko's jaw dropped. _How the…?_ While Sakae, Nakajima and Isaka-san all simply froze to the spot, nonplussed, Yamato peered from the video to Fuyuhiko, pushing up his spectacles in disbelief.

"Is that _you_ , Usami?"

Fuyuhiko had turned the colour of the underside of a fish. Already, the guests were pointing to him, murmuring, and his pale face was bathed in an onslaught of camera flashes as he faltered. He and Akihiko locked eyes, and the younger Usami swallowed at the fury that quickly flared within his father's gaze.

"Turn that off, quickly!" he barked at Isaka-san, who ushered Nakajima backstage as Fuyuhiko stormed towards his son. "Akihiko, did you do this?"

"No…" Still gaping, Akihiko shook his head. "No, honestly."

By now Yamato had joined them centre stage, standing protectively between his daughter and the ravenous cameramen. His face was as red as Sakae's hair. "What's the meaning of this, Usami?" he demanded, waving at video-Misaki. "Who is that?"

"He's nobody- I mean," said Fuyuhiko, hastily checking himself, and grabbed Akihiko's wrist to bring the microphone towards him, "As I have already stated numerous times, this is _not_ a real video, it's a fake."

"Actually," someone said, and Akihiko's entire body went rigid, "that video is just about the only thing here which _isn't_ fake!"

Heads and cameras alike swivelled to the left wing, where the new voice had come from. Akihiko knew instantly who it was, but his eyes still widened at the sight of Misaki- in the flesh, not pixels- standing right there on stage with his shoulders squared and his fists clenched by his sides, and looking at Akihiko like he wanted to skin that bunny alive and make stew out of him.

 _Fuck._

As Fuyuhiko stiffened and the Yamatos frowned, the screen suddenly went black again (not that it mattered; from the sounds of things, the guests had already recognised Misaki as the other man in the video). The chandelier was re-lit, and Isaka-san popped out from behind the curtain.

"Okay, I think I fixed-" He noticed Misaki, and raised both his eyebrows. "Chibi-tan?"

A brief moment of mortification befell Akihiko now that he was face-to-face with Misaki after his little performance, but upon seeing the borderline murderous expression on his father's face, any and all concerns besides his beloved's safety flew out of the window. He lowered the mic and stepped forwards. "Misaki, what are you-"

He trailed off, however, when Misaki strode right across the stage towards him. The blaze of those green eyes sent the foot Akihiko had put forward behind him again.

"Listen to me, you idiot rabbit," he said, stomping to a halt in front of the dumbfounded author. His arm whipped out to the side as he pointed a finger straight into the face of Sakae Yamato. "You are _not_ marrying that woman!"

As Akihiko was now holding it at Misaki's level, the mic picked this up and broadcast it to the whole room, eliciting yet another gasp from the astonished guests. While Sakae only marginally raised her brows, her father's red face turned a rather worrying shade of violet, made even more vibrant by the pristine white of his suit.

"And just who do you think you are, boy?" he rumbled, slapping Misaki's hand away from Sakae. "Did you do this?"

"Of course he did." This from Fuyuhiko. His furious glower had given way to a cold, humourless sneer. "It's always you, isn't it, Takahashi?"

Surprisingly enough, Misaki didn't cower away like he usually did; instead, he narrowed his eyes into toxic-green slits and leaned towards the older man, hissing, "You wanted some attention, did you? Well, now you're going to get it."

That was when it hit Akihiko: Misaki was doing this for _him_. He'd seen through Akihiko's ruse in typical Misaki fashion, and now he was trying to protect him from his father, unaware that it was his own wellbeing and not Akihiko's that was at stake. The author stared at him- flushed and trembling with his tail between his legs, but still consumed by that fieriness he possessed- and thought, _You idiot. You brilliant, wonderful, amazing idiot._

Though they'd stayed relatively quiet up until now, the news reporters at the foot of the stage had begun to press forwards.

"Usami-san, do you know this man?" somebody asked Fuyuhiko.

"What's your name, sir?" asked someone else, stretching a huge, fluffy microphone towards Misaki.

"Are you the man in the video with Usami-san? Can you tell us why he assaulted you?"

"Usami-sensei, are you and Yamato-san getting married or not?"

"Everyone, please," said the senior Yamato, holding up a pair of podgy hands. "What we saw was _obviously_ a fake video, planted as some kind of poorly executed shame by this…" He eyed Misaki up and down with a curled lip. "This _interloper_."

Fuyuhiko nodded. "Absolutely."

With every eye in the room currently on him, Misaki's already blushing cheeks turned beet red, but Akihiko could see that his fury was so great as to overwhelm whatever embarrassment he might have been feeling; he glared at the two elderly men, practically gnashing his teeth.

"The only sham here is _yours_ ," he announced, jabbing a forefinger at each of them. Deliberately, he raised his voice a notch. "I guess forcing your kids to get married wasn't enough for you, huh? You had to use them to butter everyone up with a bunch of fake photographs and ridiculous lies, too?!"

The words 'lies' and 'fake photographs' immediately rippled around the onlookers, and the reporters surged, brandishing their microphones as the cameras clicked in rapid succession.

"Usami-sensei, Yamato-san, is he telling the truth? Are the photographs staged?"

"Are you two actually getting married?"

"Sir, what did you mean when you said 'forced'?"

Fuyuhiko's sides were heaving at this point, and Akihiko could see beads of sweat glistening around his hairline. He was getting hot under the collar himself. His father's eyes did a nervous dart over the frowning faces of the audience before he turned them back on Misaki.

"That's enough, get him off the stage. Security!"

Hotel security had indeed been hovering uncertainly in the wings ever since the commotion began, and they started forwards at Fuyuhiko's command, but Isaka-san- with an expression of barely concealed panic- halted them. "Woah, let's just calm down here, everyone…"

Misaki and Fuyuhiko ignored him, toe to toe. "I'm not going anywhere until your son is safe from this insanity, you old fart."

The older man's eyes bulged at the insult, and Akihiko- fearing for the connection between his head and the rest of his body- made a grab for the younger. "Misaki-"

"And don't even get me started on _you_ ," said Misaki, wheeling on him before he could even get another word out. Akihiko felt the blood drain from his face; he was positively seething. "I know you can be stupid, but what the _hell_ , Usagi-san?"

Yamato frowned. "'Usagi-san'?"

Akihiko felt his mouth dry out as Misaki glared up at him, stunned by the sheer intensity of the rage in his green eyes. His furious voice boomed out of the mic in Akihiko's hand. "I can't believe you're going along with this bullshit!

"It's bad enough that you got engaged to a total stranger, but now you're stood up here, spewing garbage in front of all this people, just to keep those three morons happy?" He flung his arms up in the air. "Have you been totally brainwashed?! You're better than this, Usagi-san!"

"Usami-sensei, can you explain what this man means by 'stranger'?"

"Were you lying to us when you told us how you met Yamato-san, Usami-sensei?"

"Usami-sensei, are the photographs you showed us fakes? Yes or no?"

"Was your engagement to Yamato-san an arranged one?"

"Usami-sensei, what is your relationship to this man?"

The reporters continued to clamour, all talking over one another, and the guests were growing restless; most of the younger ones had their phones out, snapping, tweeting, instagramming. The cameramen looked like Christmas had come early. Sakae, on the other hand, wore the face of someone who was missing their favourite TV show and was itching to run home. Isaka-san was at a loss. Fuyuhiko and Yamato were whipping their heads from the cameras to Misaki to the audience to Akihiko and back again, bristling, and the author himself rubbed his face. _What a spectacular mess._ All he wanted was to protect Misaki, and he had to swoop in to try and be the hero. Why did he have to be so damn selfless?

"Misaki," said Akihiko, covering the mic with one large hand, "you don't understand what you're doing."

He prayed that Misaki would take the hint in his words, but they only seemed to make him angrier. "I understand perfectly well what I'm doing," he said, stuttering a little but loud and clear nonetheless. Before Akihiko knew it, Misaki had snatched the microphone from him and held it up to his own lips.

"I'm making sure everyone here knows the truth. That you aren't and never have been in love with _her_ -" His finger went from Akihiko to Sakae, and then stopped on their respective fathers. "And that you two are a pair of selfish, lying, blackmailing creeps and you aren't going to get away with this!"

Yamato looked horrified. "Excuse me?!"

From the shadow cast by the spotlights, Akihiko could see a muscle in Fuyuhiko's cheek twitching violently. God, the things he was going to do to them both…

His heart hammered. "Misaki…"

"I don't care what he's done or said to you, Usagi-san," Misaki replied. He looked up at the author from beneath heavily lowered brows. "It can't be worth throwing your whole life away over."

Meanwhile, the reporters had pounced on yet another new word: 'blackmail'.

"Usami-sensei, Yamato-san, do you love each other or is your engagement an arranged one?"

"Usami-san, did you and Yamato-san orchestrate your children's marriage together?"

"Did you threaten your son, Usami-san?"

"Usami-sensei, Yamato-san, can you tell us what your fathers have to do with your relationship?"

"Sir, what do you know about the arrangement between the Yamatos and the Usamis?"

This last question was directed at Misaki, who looked like he was actually going to respond before Fuyuhiko hastily cut him off.

"Will _somebody_ get him off the stage? Akihiko," he said, through clenched teeth, "kindly set this man straight and tell everybody he's talking nonsense."

Beside him, Yamato nodded. His spectacles had steamed up. "Quite right. There's nothing untoward about Akihiko-kun's relationship to my Sakae- The photographs they took together are quite genuine-"

"Oh, shut your wrinkly old traps!" Misaki snapped, and Akihiko wondered briefly if the usually courteous editor was pissed or something. "Tell the truth, Usagi-san."

"Misaki…" The guilt was crushing him, but he couldn't do it. He could only imagine what his father might do to Misaki if he did. He had to put an end to this before Misaki dug himself too deep.

There was only one way out. Taking the microphone away from Misaki, Akihiko dropped it on the floor, uncaring of the feedback whine that sent the guests' hands flying to their ears. He hustled the smaller man towards the back of the stage, away from the group and the mics, and whispered, "You need to leave, now."

Misaki's forehead creased with confusion and hurt. "Why are you doing this? This isn't you- I know it's not."

"I'm sorry." Akihiko could feel himself starting to sweat. He kept his voice as low as he could so that neither Fuyuhiko nor the audience could hear him. "But if you don't stop this, you're going to be in trouble."

"I'm already in trouble, but I don't care about-"

"No, it's more than that." Why, oh, _why_ didn't he get it? "Misaki, if you do this, my father… He won't just have it in for me, he'll have it in for _you_."

Misaki tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

The guests' constant murmuring had died down now; they were straining their ears for a snatch of the pair's conversation, craning their necks. Some of the reporters were even holding their mics up over the brim of the stage. Isaka-san, Yamato and Fuyuhiko were all staring at Akihiko, hardly daring to breathe.

"I mean…" Akihiko himself took a deep breath. He placed his hands on Misaki's shoulders- causing a drastic increase in camera clicks- and looked mournfully into his eyes. "If you don't leave, now, he's going to tell everyone.

"And I can't let that happen to you, Misaki." The furrows in Misaki's brow only deepened, and Akihiko willed him with his eyes, imploring him, begging him to understand. "I know it's awful, but we have to let him win."

"Tell everyone _what_? What are you-" Finally, comprehension dawned on Misaki's face. He drew back slightly, his lips parting just a little, and it was a moment or two before he could speak again. When he did, it was barely more than a whisper.

" _That's_ why you agreed to all this?"

Akihiko swallowed. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he said, his throat constricted and aching. He wondered if Misaki could feel his hands quivering. "I'm sorry for everything, okay? But you have to go."

He could feel his father's hawk-like eyes on him. Misaki seemed to feel them, too; his own flickered between Fuyuhiko and his son, and his distress was so palpable that it pained Akihiko just to see it.

"But he can't… _You_ can't…"

" _Go_ , Misaki." Despite his words, his grip on the man tightened. Their faces were close. "If you expose him, he _will_ do the same to you. To us."

Misaki's mouth became a straight, grim line. Slowly, he turned his head. Akihiko saw him sweep his gaze over the great hall, saw the camera flashes reflected in his eyes as he took in the hungry glint of the bulging lenses, the rapt stares of the guests, the loathing glowers of the others on stage with them. He saw Misaki close his eyes, felt his shoulders rise and fall beneath his hands. He saw him open them again.

And when they returned to Akihiko's, they were dark and fierce and determined.

"Not if I beat him to it."

Akihiko didn't even have time to blink before Misaki grabbed him by the necktie, yanked him forwards and crushed their lips together.

* * *

 **YES, I know, confusing ending, cruel cliffhanger, I lied about the climax only spanning four chapters... I just didn't want to keep you guys waiting any longer, okay? In a way, I feel like this is kind of fitting; It wouldn't be the true Squidalicious way without one last act of pure evil. XD**

 **Anyway, terrified or not, it feels super good to finally get these chapters up. I tried to make them as perfect as I possibly could, so I'd really love to hear your thoughts, whatever they may be. I hope I haven't screwed up anywhere, but if I have I apologise in advance. And don't worry: I promise the next update will not take as long as this one did.**

 **That's all from me for now. Thank you guys so, so much for reading and for being so patient, and I'll see you all hopefully very soon for part 5 of the climax.**

 **Cheers, my lovelies! :)**

 **P.S. I forgot to mention this before, but due to lots of worried PMs I got over the past seven weeks, I'm now keeping a kind of mini log thing on my profile, just so I can keep you guys posted with where I'm at with the next chapter. So if I'm ever taking forever to upload again, you can check that to make sure I'm not dead. XD**


	51. Chapter 51

**I was so relieved to see that you guys enjoyed the last few chapters. Thank you so much for all the kind reviews and messages. You're the loveliest readers in the world. ^_^**

* * *

The audience, to put it as elegantly as possible, lost their shit.

As if the violent gasps, cries of shock and occasional squeals from some of the younger women weren't enough to shake the walls, the journalists' questions rose to an incessant clamouring, and so many cameras snapped their shutters at once, it was almost deafening. Up on the stage, Yamato let slip a rather colourful exclamation, while Fuyuhiko made a sort of supressed grunting noise, as if he'd been punched in the gut.

Not that any of this really registered with Misaki, who had already passed far beyond the realm of rationality even before he mashed his face against Usagi-san's. At some point, the author- out of instinct or understanding or something else, he had no idea- had reached up and grasped Misaki tightly, and as they stood in each other's arms an odd jumble of thoughts tumbled through the younger man's brain: boy, those lights were hot, or maybe it was just him, and Usagi-san must have changed his brand of aftershave because it smelled different, and he should probably let go now because he couldn't breathe, and was that his own heart he could feel pounding against their chests, or Usagi-san's, or both?

At last- just as suddenly as it had happened- they came undone. With Usagi-san's arms still wrapped around Misaki, and Misaki still gripping his collar, they gaped at each other; neither one of them, it seemed, quite comprehending their own actions. Both of them panted softly, practically sharing the same breaths, their faces were so close.

Everyone was still shouting, but Misaki's mind was a blanket. _What just happened, exactly?_

After what seemed like an age, it was Usagi-san who spoke first, and even then he only managed a dazed murmur. "You never cease to amaze me, Misaki."

His wide, amethyst eyes seemed to fill Misaki's entire vision. Swallowing hard, he pushed the author away- Just a tiny push, towards the central spotlight.

"J-just… tell the truth, stupid rabbit," he stuttered. His cheeks were scorching. "This is dumb."

After a moment or two, Usagi-san actually laughed- sort of. It was more of an exhale. He pushed the displaced silver locks back off his forehead, and blinked his eyes like a blind man seeing clearly for the first time.

"You're right."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode forwards, stooping to pick up the dropped microphone before re-entering the spotlight. The volume of the guest's voices lowered a notch as he fixed it back to the stand, though the reporters' barrage of questions didn't let up for a moment. Misaki could see the fuzzy tips of their mics waving at the foot of the stage, the twinkle of phone camera lights peppering the vast crowd. The bright overheads made everything beyond them look black as night; it was almost like looking a sky full of stars.

Usagi-san regarded them solemnly for a moment or two before he addressed them. "I apologise for deceiving you all."

Keeping hold of the mic, he then turned to face his fiancée; she was watching him carefully, with what might have been taken as interest, her head tilted ever so slightly to one side. "And I apologise to you, Sakae-san, but I'm going to have to go back on our arrangement."

"Now, wait just a minute!" Yamato spluttered, beside himself. He pointed a fat forefinger at Usagi-san. "You agreed to marry my daughter!"

"Agreed?" the reporters parroted. "Agreed? Arrangement? Usami-sensei, can you tell us more?"

The author ignored them, replying instead to Yamato. "Well, I can't," he said over the noise. "I don't even know her.

"Honestly, I'm not even sure I know myself anymore."

He had his back to Misaki as he said this, so he couldn't see Usagi-san's face, but he could see that his silver head had dipped a little. The spotlight contoured him in a halo-like glow as he looked to Sakae again.

"I realise now that to marry you would be killing us both," he told her, his deep voice resonating sombrely through the speakers. "We never belonged together, so we should live our lives apart- _Our_ lives, not our fathers'. I hope you can forgive me."

That said, he bowed deeply- a gesture which, for him, looked extremely strange to Misaki- and though his view of her was mostly obscured by the glare of the lights, the editor thought he saw the corner of Sakae's ruby-red lips tweak upwards.

A smile was tugging at his own mouth, too. That's _my Usagi-san._

Amidst the squawking rabble at the foot of the stage, one reporter managed to raise her voice and her mic above all the others. "Usami-sensei," she asked, "were you lying when you said you loved Yamato-san?"

The question seemed to sap the excited energy buzzing throughout the hall. Within seconds, the guests had fallen silent, and even the reporters ceased fire as the entire room awaited the author's answer. Fuyuhiko's steel eyes and Yamato's watery, blue ones were locked on him. Somehow, as he watched the back of Usagi-san's head and waited with them, Misaki found himself holding his breath.

There was no trace of doubt in the reply they received. "Yes, I was."

Misaki exhaled silently, despite the dubious murmurs drifting from the crowd. A few more camera flashes mingled with the already blinding brightness. Unusually, it was the shadows and not the light that revealed a great many things to Misaki at that moment; the shadows of the tendons in Yamato's aged, clenching fist, or those swallowing up Fuyuhiko's eyes like caves as he lowered his head. The straight, poised silhouette of Sakae lay motionless against the stage floor. Beside it, the determined stance of Usagi-san's figure gave way to one of hesitancy as the shadow of his head slowly turned.

"My love is, and always has been, with someone else."

He wasn't looking at the crowd as he said this. Nor was he looking at his father, or Sakae. He was looking over his shoulder, behind him. Straight into Misaki's eyes.

The editor's stomach did a triple-flip as he stared back. Did he mean… _Did he mean…?_

Everybody else in the room was now looking at Misaki, too, and the lights suddenly felt like fire against his cheeks. The heat was dizzying. _Crap._ He couldn't faint on live TV, but nor could he seem to do anything other than stand and flap his mouth like a fish as he fumbled for something to say- something to shape the sudden whirlwind within him into a coherent stream of words.

"Usagi-san…"

This tiny, tentative squeak was all Misaki managed before- mercifully- a noise from below saved him any further struggle. A lone but merry noise echoing throughout the cavernous hall, of two hands clapping.

Heads turned again, this time to somewhere in the middle of the audience. Edging forwards for a better view, Misaki peered down through a strip of dazzling, white light, and was surprised to see a familiar face amongst those of the guests- one he hadn't noticed was even there before. The person clapping was Aikawa-san. The only reason he spotted her so quickly was because, unlike the rest of crowd around her, she was beaming, and whilst everyone was staring at her, she had eyes only for her author up on the stage. Her smile was as bright and warm as the sun as she applauded Usagi-san, loudly and proudly.

Stealing a glance at him, Misaki saw Usagi-san's jaw go slack at the sight of his editor, but the shock on his face only grew when, somewhere in the crowd, a second pair of hands joined Aikawa-san's in their ovation. And another. And then another, and another, and another.

Misaki gazed out over the audience in astonishment. More and more people- slowly at first, but gaining sureness- were raising their hands, and before anyone knew it the entire hall was thundering with applause. There were hoots. Cheers. Even some of the reporters and musicians stopped what they were doing to join in. Misaki and Usagi-san had revealed to these strangers a part of themselves they'd kept hidden for their entire lives, and here they were, clapping their hands raw with admiration.

Simultaneously, they looked at each other. The author, for once, was speechless, offering Misaki nothing but a small shrug. Misaki himself had to keep from clutching at his chest. It was throbbing- not with pain, but something else, something he couldn't describe. He felt tears pricking his eyes and a grin beginning to form as the cheers of the audience filled his ears and his heart...

" _Takahashi!_ "

The furious cry tore through the sounds of jollity and had the guests' clapping immediately dying away. Too late, Misaki turned and then yelped as he was grabbed roughly by the shoulders, finding himself inches away from the glaring, snarling face of Fuyuhiko Usami.

"Hey!" Usagi-san, instantly alert, tried to rush to Misaki's aid, but Fuyuhiko ignored him.

" _Do you realise what you've just done, you stupid boy?!_ " he roared, flecks of spittle spraying into Misaki's face. He tried to back off, but Fuyuhiko's talon-like fingers held him in place. His eyes were wild with hatred. "You're a curse on my family, I tell you! Why is that you're always there to _destroy_ everything I've worked for? Are you trying to make a mockery of my name?!"

The guests, so jubilant just moments ago, were frozen stiff, and the stage's other occupants hovered in place, fearful of approaching Fuyuhiko's wrath. The blind confidence that had gotten Misaki to where he was fled him in an instant, and he felt sweat pool in the small of his back as he stuttered, "Y-you're the one who's made a mockery of yourself."

"Oh, is that so?" The elderly man's features twisted into an ugly sneer, accentuated by the flashing cameras. He leaned in closer. "Clearly you have no idea what I'm capable of, Takahashi. We'll see who's laughing when I'm through with you!"

"Leave him alone!" Usagi-san yelled.

Flinching, Misaki squeezed his eyes shut, neither knowing nor wanting to know exactly how much further Fuyuhiko was about to take this. Luckily for him, he never found out, because that was the moment somebody shouted, "Hey! Hey, don't- hic- touch him!" and Fuyuhiko made a startled noise as the claws of his fingers left his captive.

Opening his eyes, Misaki blinked them several times at the sight of his saviour. "I-Ijuuin-sensei?"

There was a mutter of recognition from the audience as the cameras pointed themselves towards the mangaka, who had indeed emerged from the wings and was now holding back an extremely indignant Fuyuhiko with both arms. He looked with doleful, deep blue eyes at Misaki, who noticed they were also red around the rims.

"I don'- hic- care if you don' want me." He stumbled a little with Fuyuhiko, the older man's struggling and his own intoxication making it difficult to speak, but still he managed to tell Misaki, "I won' let anyone hurt you."

Almost growling with anger, Fuyuhiko wrenched himself from Ijuuin's grasp. "Take your hands off me, you drunkard!" he said, and to underscore this, shoved the mangaka hard in the chest.

This was to be the third time that year Misaki found himself in disbelief at how a simple combination of bad timing and too much alcohol could have such drastic consequences. To be completely fair to Fuyuhiko, he probably didn't realise just how drunk the mangaka was. Then maybe he wouldn't have pushed him quite so hard. Misaki would always regret that neither he nor Isaka-san reacted quickly enough; the director did make a grab for his artist as he staggered backwards, but not, unfortunately, in time to keep him from toppling over the edge of the stage and into the live orchestra pit.

A resounding symphony of splintering wood, twanging strings and a rather unmelodious crash of piano keys followed shortly- with a baseline of yelps as the musicians leapt out of harm's way- and the entire room collectively winced. After a moment of stunned silence, Misaki rushed to Isaka-san's side, who was still frozen above the pit with his hand outstretched.

"Sensei?!"

From somewhere beneath the pile of battered instruments came a low groan.

Misaki's hand went to his mouth, Isaka-san's to his forehead. Meanwhile, Fuyuhiko's sides were heaving as he came down from his fit, and when he realised the cameras were on him again, a bead of sweat slipped down his pale temple. A few people began clambering into the pit to Ijuuin's aid, and Misaki tried to jump down and help, but Usagi-san stopped him with a large hand against his chest.

"Don't go down there," he said. "Those reporters will rip you to shreds."

Indeed, the news teams were already clustering around again, enormous cameras lifted for a shot of the pit. It seemed theirs wasn't the only attention the commotion had attracted; all of a sudden there were more people up on the stage, uniformed security guards and one particularly well-groomed man in a suit, who Misaki could only assume was the hotel manager. He headed straight for Isaka-san with a look of alarm.

"What's going on here?" Bewildered, he took one look at the chaos below and turned wide eyes back to the director. "Sir?!"

"Um…" Peering down into the orchestra pit, Isaka-san grimaced. "I think we're gonna need an ambulance."

Misaki bit his lower lip as two security guards then approached Fuyuhiko- now somewhat resembling a rabbit in car headlights- and another whispered something into the manager's ear. The man's eyebrows lifted at what he heard, and after a second or two he nodded.

"I see. Call an ambulance, please, and…" Gesturing to a couple of his staff, he then cast a wary glance in Fuyuhiko's direction. "Perhaps the police as well?"

Seeing the sharp glare from the older man upon hearing this, the manager nervously held up his hands. "Just to be on the safe side."

Immediately, Fuyuhiko locked eyes with Misaki, teeth bared, and the editor was once again paralyzed with fear. At that moment, however, a strong arm wrapped protectively around his shoulders, and he looked up. Usagi-san only spared his father the briefest, filthiest of looks before nodding to the manager, already steering Misaki away from them.

"Definitely."

* * *

What happened next was a blur, albeit a rather distant blur, as Akihiko and Misaki were forced to watch everything from up on the stage; one foot down onto the floor, and the crowd would swamp them. They stood half-in, half-out of the wings, sharing the last little island of calm within the great hall, which had become a heaving mass of spectators and confused shouts. Between Isaka-san apologising profusely to the hotel manager, the rampant reporters, Fuyuhiko and Yamato exchanging hushed but heated words in the opposite wing, and the team of paramedics who eventually arrived to exhume Ijuuin from the orchestra pit, Akihiko didn't know where to look.

He knew where he _couldn't_ look: right beside him, where Misaki's quiet but awkward presence had been gnawing at him for the past thirty minutes. They hadn't spoken a word to each other. Not that it made much difference; there might as well have been someone standing between them, banging pots and pans and yelling _You kissed! You kissed! You kissed!_

Akihiko's lips still buzzed with the memory of Misaki's. So much had changed in that one kiss, and all the unspoken words it contained. Where was he supposed to go from here?

Of course, the only place he really wanted to go right now was _home_ \- or at least somewhere quieter than the hotel- but the surrounding mob had both him and Misaki stranded. Unlike everyone else present, the reporters were having a field day; security guards were actually having to form a protective barrier around the stage as they brandished their microphones, all jostling each other and hollering like infants.

"Usami-sensei, what was the reason behind tonight's events?"

"Is your fake marriage to Sakae Yamato related to the alleged partnership between Usami Corps and Yamato Industries?"

"What made you change your mind, Usami-sensei?"

"Usami-sensei, is it true that your father blackmailed you?"

"Usami-sensei, how do you think tonight's events will affect your career?"

"Takahashi-san, what is your relationship to Usami-sensei?"

Camera flashes lit up the two figures from all angles as Akihiko pinched the bridge of his nose. "Damn vultures…"

"… I'm sorry, Usagi-san."

Surprised, Akihiko turned his head to find Misaki's tilted downwards, so that he could only see a tangle of dark locks. He was fiddling with his necktie.

"I just wanted to get the truth out, you know?" the editor explained, chancing a brief glance up at Akihiko. "I never expected this.

"Or that," he added, nodding towards the other side of the hall. Following his gesture, Akihiko saw the crowd below parting to make way for a stretcher, carrying a now unconscious Ijuuin with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Also down there (and also getting a fair amount of the news teams' attention) was Fuyuhiko, cornered by not only the manager, but two police officers. They pointed to the mangaka as he was carted off, but when Fuyuhiko opened his mouth to respond he was cut off by a chorus of boos from the surrounding witnesses.

"I saw the whole thing- Pushed that poor man right off the stage, he did!" Akihiko heard one woman declare.

"That guy's violent!" said someone else- A short man with dark, combed hair who Akihiko vaguely recognised from Marukawa's editorial office. "I was there when he hit that kid in the video- Straight up slapped him in the face and then took off!"

" _And_ he blackmailed his son!"

"He's dangerous!"

"Lock him up!"

The officers were scribbling furiously in their notebooks by this point, and turned to Yamato for confirmation, who was standing nearby with Sakae beside him. The young woman's face was hidden by a curtain of scarlet hair, but her father made quite the show of sniffing and curling his upper lip as he regarded his disgraced ex-business partner. His response to the officers' questions wasn't audible over the jeers of the spectators, but whatever it was, it had Fuyuhiko's eyes practically popping out of their sockets. Clearly, Yamato was not about to share his accomplice's shame.

Akihiko could only snort. He turned back to Misaki, who was watching everything with a guilt-stricken gaze.

"He deserves it," he said simply. The remorseful expression didn't lift from Misaki's face, however, and Akihiko quietly sighed. How short-lived Misaki's righteous rage had been. He'd always been like that; flaring up and fizzling straight out again, like a firework.

"I'm glad you finally called him out on that video," he went on, hoping to rekindle some of that spark that had captivated him so. Misaki didn't deserve dampened spirits after all he'd done tonight. "By the way, how did you get that up on the screen without anyone noticing, anyway?"

He'd asked this time because he was genuinely curious, but to his surprise, Misaki gave him a puzzled look.

"You mean you didn't do that?"

Akihiko frowned. "What?"

"I should knock both your heads together."

Turning in the direction of the new voice, Akihiko and Misaki were greeted by a grinning Aikawa-san, having somehow slipped past security and onto the stage. "But I'm going to do this instead," she said as she reached them, and the next thing Akihiko knew, she'd squeezed them both into a bone-crushing hug.

Through the faceful of sprayed hair and perfume, he managed to grumble, "Ribs, Aikawa-san," and she released them, stepping back and clasping her hands together. The pearly, silk wrap she wore shimmered under the spotlights, and seeing the glow of her smile and the shine of her blue eyes, Akihiko couldn't remember the last time he saw his editor looking so radiant.

"I'm so proud of you both!" she said, in the tone of a tearful mother. Placing an arm around Akihiko's shoulders, she added teasingly, "Well, mostly you, Misaki-kun. Thanks for setting this idiot straight for me!"

Misaki laughed sheepishly, but Akihiko wasn't smiling. He shrugged her arm away.

"Aikawa-san," he said, suspicion and disbelief battling for dominance of his voice, "was it _you_ who put that video in the slideshow?"

The younger editor's eyebrows shot upwards at this, and they both stared at Aikawa-san, whose grin quickly turned sly.

"You know me, sensei," she said, tapping her nose. "I like my dramatic twists."

Though he couldn't quite bring himself to be mad at her, Akihiko was astounded that his dependable editor, of all people, would take such an enormous risk- _And_ after he specifically warned her against it. Glaring, he crossed his arms.

"Dammit, woman, you call _me_ an idiot…"

Aikawa-san simply held up her hands in a display of mock innocence. "Don't blame me," she sing-songed, and sauntered past them into the shadow of the wing. Just before she disappeared backstage, however, she looked over her shoulder and added in a slightly lower voice,

"I was just acting on her ladyship's orders."

"What?" Akihiko said again, but she was already gone in a swish of curtains. He and Misaki exchanged baffled looks, and the gears if Akihiko's mind ground dumbly against each other for a moment or two before realisation finally dawned.

"She can't mean…" With wide eyes, he raised his head to cast them across the hall again.

Fuyuhiko was now engaged in a vehement argument with the two police officers, and most of the remaining guests were consequently focused on them, but Akihiko was looking at Sakae. At first, he'd thought she was ducking her head like that out of embarrassment, but if he squinted, he could see that she was in fact watching Fuyuhiko's every movement very, very closely. It was then that he noticed her very stature also seemed to have changed; she wasn't prim and poised anymore, but looser, her arms resting across her waist with an air of what could almost be described as smugness.

As if sensing her observer, Sakae looked up and their eyes met. Akihiko was taken aback when he found, finally, something other than emptiness in hers. Even from this distance, he could see something twinkly, something nearly-

His arms uncrossed and dropped to his sides. Did she just _wink_ at him?

It had to have been his imagination, he thought, but apparently he wasn't the only one who noticed it. As Sakae went back to being a little, unheeded splash of red in the corner, Akihiko once again became aware of the younger man beside him, and when they looked at each other Misaki grinned.

"Guess I wasn't the only one who wanted to get even with your dad, huh?"

Akihiko couldn't even answer him; his jaw had come unhinged. That cunning little… And without even saying anything to him!

All of a sudden he felt a little ashamed. Everyone, it seemed, had had a hand in undoing this entire mess he'd created except for him.

A round of hoots and taunts from the guests caught the pair's attention. Down below, one of the police officers was holding Fuyuhiko's wrists behind his back despite his protests, and the other was slapping a pair of handcuffs on him. The crowd cheered and jeered their approval as the struggling old man was dragged towards the exit; he shouted something furiously at Yamato over his shoulder, but his traitorous co-conspirator only stuck his nose in the air, adjusted his suit indignantly and stalked off, quickly disappearing from sight with Sakae in tow. Fuyuhiko continued to rage, his screamed threats and affronts only encouraging the audience's heckling as the officers marched him out, cameras clicking and hands making vulgar gestures in the trio's wake.

Witnessing this, Akihiko felt a smirk creeping onto his face, but more important was that the reporters- who until now had been vying in vain for his or Misaki's attention- were now all but totally preoccupied with this new scandal; most of them even followed Fuyuhiko out of the hall. Knowing they only had a short window of time, Akihiko nudged Misaki's side.

"Now might be a good time to escape," he said, keeping his voice hushed. He hesitated a moment. "Maybe we could go somewhere no one will bother us and… talk?"

The word 'talk' immediately smothered them both, heavy with implication and possibility. Akihiko felt a nervous tug just saying it, and he was sure Misaki felt something similar; he saw the younger man's throat bob, and his green eyes avoided Akihiko's.

"Go where?"

"Good question," said Akihiko, rubbing his chin. His own home was a no-go as half the reporters probably knew his address, and even if they didn't he was sure Isaka-san wouldn't hesitate to give them directions. He suddenly realised that, after everything that had just happened in the space of a mere hour or so, he absolutely _needed_ to have Misaki alone.

Misaki himself was chewing on his lower lip, regarding the swarming, babbling crowd and the mosquito-like reporters with a frown. After a minute or two, he shook his head.

"Actually, I don't care where. Let's just get out of here."

Relieved, Akihiko nodded. With a furtive glance at the still distracted reporters, he headed for the shelter of the wing with Misaki close behind him, not daring to check if anyone noticed them making their exit. The blackness of backstage opened up before them as he wordlessly held the curtain aside. He and Misaki walked through it together; towards what exactly, he simply didn't know.

* * *

 **Yooouuu thought it was Misaki who played the video, didn't you? :P Honestly, Sakae's development has surprised me. It seems pretty much everything about this story ends up being way more complicated than I intended...**

 **I hope you guys liked the chapter, and I particularly hope you enjoyed seeing Fuyuhiko and Ijuuin _finally_ getting thoroughly rekt- Quite literally, in Ijuuin's case (written with you in mind, Silent ShadowRaven!). I must say, it was quite refreshing to get to write something upbeat and even a little goofy after this year-long angstfest. XD**

 **As always, thank you for reading and please review. Next chapter is a special one, so stay tuned. ;)**


	52. Chapter 52

**Hey everyone! Thanks for your lovely reviews last time, and sorry if I forgot to reply to anyone. ^^;**

 **Just a quick note: I think some people got a bit confused and thought that chapter 50 was going to be the last one. There were lots of questions about what would happen afterwards with Fuyuhiko, Ijuuin and Shizuku, etc. so I just want to let you guys know that there ARE going to be more chapters after this one which will answer those questions; I like my closure, so the story won't be ending until everything is nicely wrapped up. ;)**

 **Anyway, it's finally ready! The chapter I've been dying to post for over a year! XD I'm really excited for you guys to read it, and I hope you like it. It's dedicated to two people: My bestie Ro, for being my faithful beta-reader and feels-ometer for the past year, and my fanfiction senpai (she knows who she is) because she told me she hasn't been having a good time lately. I hope this chapter brightens your day a little- And the rest of you, too. :)**

 **So, without further ado, please sit back and relax because this is possibly the longest one to date. (Oh, and, not to give anything away, but you may want to have a celebratory drink on hand...) XD**

* * *

Despite their efforts, they were spotted getting into Akihiko's car by some particularly persistent paparazzi. The ensuing chase lasted almost an hour, the author screeching and honking his way through the neon-lit high streets whilst Misaki clung to the door handle in mild mortal terror, and by the time they finally managed to ditch the damn pests, midnight was long gone.

They'd ended up in some suburban area- whereabouts exactly, neither of them knew- and though there were plenty of streetlamps and a few lit windows, it was nicely dark and deserted. A welcome change from the stage at the hotel, that was for sure.

Akihiko parked in the shadows (he may have lost the reporters, but they couldn't be too careful, and the glaring red sports car would be a dead giveaway) and looked over at Misaki. The editor was still a little pale-faced, and he had yet to let go of the door handle. No surprise, after such a turn of events; even the usually unshakable author was feeling kind of rattled. He thought for a moment as he removed his keys from the ignition. With the paparazzi likely still on the prowl, leaving the safety of the car might prove unwise, but it was clear that both he and his companion could do with some fresh air.

Almost automatically, he cleared his throat and said, "How about a walk?"

They both flinched ever so slightly at that, and it took Akihiko a second or two to remember why: 'a walk' used to be his and Misaki's default solution to a fight. Whenever they were having difficulties, and being cooped up together in the condo was stifling their ability to cool their heads and expand their perspectives and simply breathe, one of them would always, inevitably say, "How about a walk?" and they would stay out as long as they needed to, regardless of the hour or the elements. When they returned home they would always be hand-in-hand.

For Akihiko to have said it _now_ , therefore, felt strangely, shockingly intimate. Misaki had definitely noticed it too, though he didn't exactly recoil in horror- He had straight up kissed his ex-boyfriend just hours before, Akihiko supposed. His voice, however, held some hesitancy as he fiddled with his still-fastened seatbelt.

"We don't know where we are," he said. "We'll get lost…"

Akihiko contemplated this, leaning back in the leather seat. What little chinks of light that made it into the car fell across him in bars.

"To be honest, Misaki, I think I'd quite like to get lost somewhere tonight."

After a brief moment, there was a _click_ as Misaki unfastened his seatbelt. "Me, too."

The streets were quiet as they wandered them- unhurriedly, heading for nowhere in particular- and so were they. It wasn't an awkward silence, nor was it quite comfortable. Akihiko knew it was because they were both brimming with words waiting to be spoken, but neither of them dared, too afraid of what would happen if things went south. Even more afraid, perhaps, of what would happen if they went in a different direction.

It was Misaki who spilled first. They were just turning onto a shadowy backstreet, lined with izakayas and noodle bars with their shutters down, when he released a long-suppressed sigh.

"I feel really bad for wrecking Nakajima-sensei's party."

Walking beside him, Akihiko grunted and tugged at his tie. The lingering warmth of the summer day had dissipated by now, and the cool air was pleasant against his skin so fevered from the night's emotional workout.

"So do I, I guess," he replied, finally pulling the garment off and stuffing it into his blazer. If he was being honest, though, any guilt he felt was miniscule compared to the other feelings, only just sinking in after the rush- The feeling of having _escaped_. He simply couldn't bring himself to not be happy; not when he was out here, away from the stage and the cameras and the people he despised, alone with Misaki under the veil of night. The relief was almost euphoric.

He allowed himself a chuckle. "You know, I thought Sakae-san and I were stealing the spotlight, but you really one-upped us with that performance."

He meant it as a joke, but sadly his gleefulness didn't seem to be rubbing off on Misaki; the smaller man visibly shrank at the words, crossing his bare arms as if bracing a chill and looking straight downwards at his shoes.

"I don't know what came over me," he said, morose. "When I saw you up there with that woman, and those photographs, I just… lost it."

"Well, I'm glad you did." Misaki looked up at him, frowning, and Akihiko chanced a tiny smile. "You really saved me tonight, Misaki."

The street had now taken on a gentle incline. As they passed in and out of the flickering patches of lamp-light, Akihiko saw Misaki's cheeks colour, though he was pretty sure the walking uphill had little to do with it.

"Don't say that," he said. He looked away again, and his voice dropped to a mumble. "If anything, I'm the one who got us into this mess in the first place."

"Oh, come on," said Akihiko. Until then they'd been walking at a fairly polite distance, but now he narrowed the gap between them by a few inches, reaching out to give Misaki a playful- but pointed- nudge. "Even you can't blame yourself for something that had nothing to do with you."

"It had everything to do with me." said Misaki, and his voice grew a little louder. " _I_ was your dad's bargaining chip, for crying out loud. You went through that whole crazy marriage thing just for my sake, and I was too dumb to even figure it out for myself…"

He kicked a nearby pebble out of his path, and Akihiko watched, dismayed, as it bounced away into the darkness. Why was he always so insistent on blaming himself?

"Misaki, don't talk like that. There's no way you could have known."

Misaki's large, green eyes were doubtful as he looked up. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Akihiko hesitated. "Well, because I knew you'd react like you are now."

The uphill street had reached its summit, forking off into a 'T' shape, and opposite them a leafy park rose into view. There didn't seem to be anyone else around. Crossing, they stopped by the gate, and Akihiko reached through the bars to feel around blindly for the latch, continuing somewhat unsurely as he did so.

"I'd already hurt you enough. I… I didn't want you feeling guilty on top of that."

His fingers closed around chilly metal, and the gate swung open with barely a squeak. He held it aside for Misaki, who looked at him strangely for a moment before accepting the invite.

"Honestly, you are so _stupid_ , Usagi," he grumbled, brushing past him. Akihiko watched him walk ahead, closing the gate behind them. "I can't believe you almost got hitched to some random woman just so my feelings wouldn't be hurt."

The grit path was sheltered with trees, and Akihiko followed Misaki into them, catching up easily with a few strides of his long legs. The editor's hands were stuck in his smart trouser pockets, brow tense, and Akihiko had to wonder which one of them he was truly angry with.

"Well, it wasn't just that- There was also my father," he said after a pause. When Misaki didn't answer, Akihiko inhaled, breathing in loamy ground and fresh, dewy grass scents, and sighed. "I know it was only a slap, but that video terrified me, Misaki. It made me realise just how far he was willing to go."

Misaki was looking now; he could feel his eyes on the side of his head. Akihiko kept his own gaze downwards, studying the dappled moonlight patterns on the floor, as if he'd find the courage to say what he wanted to say next somewhere within them.

"I could forgive myself if I married Sakae-san," he said, barely louder than the whispering leaves, "but not if I put you in danger."

Still he received no response, and Akihiko turned to try and gauge one from Misaki's expression, only to notice that his companion had stopped suddenly. He looked behind him.

"What is it?"

Half in shadow and half in moonlight, Misaki stared at him blankly. He shook his head as Akihiko approached.

"And I said you never cared about me."

Akihiko blinked. "Misaki-"

He reached for his shoulder, but Misaki suddenly made a sharp turn and slipped through the nearest two tree trunks, heading out into the wide, grassy expanse of the park with quick and curt steps. Akihiko watched him go in silent distress. This was what they had been afraid of. They weren't just talking anymore; they were _talking_. He should have known it was only a matter of time before one of them brought up September.

Still, he'd be damned if he was letting Misaki walk away yet another time- _or_ carry the burden of guilt along with him. Like a loyal dog, Akihiko followed him, and their twin tracks veered off the beaten path and into the grass.

Misaki didn't try to get away as he fell into step with him, but he wouldn't look at Akihiko either. It was at least easier to see now that they were out of the trees- the moon was beaming down on them in full, and a sprinkling of summer fireflies gave them some extra illumination- but Misaki's face was so unreadable that it made no difference. It was breezier, too, and Akihiko took off his blazer when he noticed the goosebumps on the younger man's skin (he'd left his own jacket in the car), but instead of offering it to him he found himself awkwardly draping it over his own arm instead. It was easy to forget that a kiss didn't break down all the barriers.

"Misaki…" he said again, and then closed his mouth. Why was it that he could pin vast crowds of strangers under his thumb with nothing but words, but picking the right ones to simply get Misaki to stop hating himself was such a struggle? He tried again. "Back when I… I mean, when we… When you said…

"You had every right to feel that way," was what he eventually settled for.

Misaki just scoffed. "What, you mean to overreact?" he said, swatting at an invasive mosquito with a little too much zeal. He was flattening the long grass. "None of this would have ever happened, if I'd just stopped to think before I flipped out on you-"

"You're forgetting that I _deserved_ it," Akihiko cut in, struggling to keep up with the man; he was practically speed-walking in his agitation. He hated that they were talking about this- hated even remembering it- but he had to remind Misaki if he wanted to keep him from slipping back into his old ways again. He couldn't let him feel at fault.

"It was me who fucked everything up to begin with, not you."

Misaki didn't answer him, but his footsteps slowed a little. Akihiko walked patiently beside him. Their pant cuffs were wet with dew, little dots of light rising up around them with every step as the fireflies cleared their path. It was pretty. Akihiko would have liked to leave the conversation at that, and just disappear wordlessly with Misaki into the night.

But what did _Misaki_ want?

"You're only human, Usagi-san." To keep beating himself up, apparently. His shoulders drooped. "You did some stupid shit, but I only made everything worse by being a jealous brat."

Akihiko's brow creased. "Why do you keep cutting yourself down?"

"Because I was horrible to you, and you _still_ went to all that trouble to protect me from your dad!"

Fireflies scattered as Misaki, following this outburst, made a frustrated noise and dropped abruptly into a sitting position on the ground. He braced his elbows on his knees and pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, unmindful of the damp.

Akihiko gave him a moment or two before joining him on the grass, laying out his blazer like a blanket. Though Misaki turned away when he sat, he left enough room for him on the garment should he want it. He wouldn't leave him here like this, whether Misaki wanted him to or not.

When enough seconds had passed, Akihiko said to him, "And you didn't do the same for me?"

This earned him a sideways glance. Stretching his legs out, Akihiko explained, "I'd given up, you know. I was prepared to spend the rest of my life chained to that woman, letting my father take complete control, but _you_ were the one who stood up to him. Even if it meant putting yourself at risk."

When it became clear the other man wasn't going to look at him, Akihiko lifted a hand and gingerly took hold of his chin, tilting his face towards him. His lips parted uncertainly, but Akihiko didn't care about barriers. He needed him to see the truth in his eyes. "You set me free, Misaki."

The warm skin of Misaki's throat fluttered. He moved the author's large hand away and pulled his knees into his chest, resting his chin on them and watching the fireflies thoughtfully.

"I just did what I had to." A pause. "I would never have let your father do that to you, Usagi-san."

It was said very matter-of-factly, but something within Akihiko still ached upon hearing it. From behind Misaki's knees came an embarrassed cough.

"Besides," he went on, "I was just getting so sick of everyone around me lying and deceiving one another, you know? It was like I couldn't trust anyone anymore."

Akihiko nodded, and Misaki's eyes narrowed. "When I saw those fake pictures, I just _knew_ your dad was behind it, and it made me so…" he paused to gather himself, sighing. "I couldn't let him get away with it. I just couldn't."

A firefly landed in his dark hair, and he brushed it away absently, not noticing Akihiko's stare. Did he even know what an angel he was? The author had to swallow away the dryness in his throat as he asked,

"And the kiss?"

Misaki's already large eyes popped at that, and even in the darkness Akihiko could clearly see the spectacular shade of red that spread across his face. He shifted into a cross-legged position, motioning frantically with his hands as if quite literally fumbling for a response.

"Ah, th-that, um, w-well… Well, nobody was going to take my word over his unless I had some kind of proof, right?" he said, and suddenly he was the old, stuttering, teenaged Misaki again, nothing like the changed young man who had come to Akihiko's rescue at the hotel. He rubbed the back of his head as his eyes flickered sheepishly in Akihiko's direction. "It... it was all I could think of."

This time, it was Akihiko's turn to look away. The dryness had spread into his mouth. He tried to focus on the fireflies to calm his nerves, fading, brightening, fading, brightening… He took a deep breath, cool and grass-scented.

"Is that the only reason?"

Beside him, Misaki froze. Akihiko held his breath; he was in dangerous territory now, he knew, but he needed to know the answer. The damp chill of the grass began seeping through his clothes as he waited, but his companion remained silent.

When Akihiko plucked up the courage to look at him, Misaki had gone so still that the fireflies were landing all over him, twinkling in his hair, on his knees and shoulders. He made no move to reply. As Akihiko watched his small silhouette, he noted how the man looked vaguely childlike as he sat there with his legs crossed, one of his habits that made him seem so very innocent on the outside.

 _He's changed so much on the inside, though_. He knew how Akihiko felt now. And Akihiko… Did he dare hope…?

Fireflies were even crawling over Misaki's hand, resting just by his side. It was small and pale amidst the grass. Before he even knew what he was doing, Akihiko- without releasing his breath- was slowly sliding his own larger hand towards it, his gaze fixed on Misaki as he reached for him… Their fingers had barely grazed one another, however, when Misaki's darted suddenly away, causing Akihiko to draw back in surprise.

"Look, Usagi-san…" He was staring down at his lap now, the hand fidgeting with its twin, and Akihiko's heart sank into his stomach; he'd misread him. "Before you start thinking, well, anything, um… there's something I want you to know about."

The grass rustled as Akihiko sat up straighter. "Oh?"

"Well, actually, I don't _want_ you to know," Misaki said, practically squirming. His breathing was louder than it should have been, shallow and nervous. "In fact, I really, _really_ don't, but, well, all of the shit we've been through this year only happened because we weren't honest with each other, and I don't want to repeat that all over again."

Already, Akihiko knew where this was going, but before he could spare Misaki the trouble the editor shuffled around to face him. Akihiko heard him swallow thickly.

"So, I'm going to tell you something, and it's going to make you angry, and you'll probably never want to see me again…"

"Misaki…"

"And I want you to remember that I didn't _mean_ for it to happen, but-"

"Misaki," said Akihiko, making him falter. He hesitated. How did he do this? After a moment's debate, he laid an awkward but tender hand on Misaki's shoulder. "I know about you and… I know you slept with him."

At first, Misaki's face only scrunched up in confusion, but then his jaw fell open and he gaped. "He _told_ you?"

Wincing inwardly, Akihiko nodded, kicking himself for his tactlessness when he felt Misaki's shoulder beginning to shake. Maybe he should have just feigned ignorance...

His self-cursing was interrupted by Misaki slamming his fists into the ground.

"That _jerk_!" he cried, fireflies flitting away in all directions. The hurt in his voice struck Akihiko. _That_ fucking _son-of-a-bitch mangaka..._ Misaki appeared to be thinking the same thing as he buried his face in both hands. "How could he- Wait, hang on."

Looking up again, he tilted his head in a puzzled, somewhat wary manner. "Usagi-san, aren't you, you know, furious?"

The author shook his silver head. "Well, not with you," he amended.

"Why not?!"

"What do you mean, why not?" he laughed, but not unkindly. Only Misaki could ask such a thing under these circumstances. "It wasn't your fault."

"But…" said Misaki, at a loss. He pushed his hands backwards through his thatch of dark hair in disbelief (and Akihiko was almost compelled to do the same; he seriously thought he was responsible for this?). "But, don't you understand what I've done? After all the crap I gave you about Kamijou-sensei, and Nii-chan, and your fiancée…"

" _Ex_ -fiancée," Akihiko corrected. When he actually considered what Misaki was saying, though, he frowned; he hadn't thought about it that way.

"Anyway, that's not the same thing," he tried to reassure him. Seeing that Misaki didn't look at all convinced, he went on, "You didn't know what you were doing. Plus, it's not like you were being unfaithful to anyone, like I was.

"It was just an accident."

Misaki fiddled with his necktie. Akihiko hadn't given him that one, had he? Something about him buying his own suits made him seem so much more… grown.

"Well, I guess, but it was still a pretty dick move- To you _and_ sensei," he said eventually. Something hardened in his voice then, and the shadows of his brows swallowed up his grim glare. "Though, he wasn't even drunk."

"Exactly," said Akihiko. The iciness of Misaki's tone spread to him in an instant, especially as he recalled the mangaka's triumphant grin earlier that evening. "It's that fucker's fault for taking advantage of you, not the other way around."

As if in agreement, a chilly breeze blew by and ruffled them both, making the hairs on Akihiko's exposed neck stand up. Misaki shivered. After a moment's consideration, he scooted to sit on the edge of Akihiko's blazer, and though he kept his back to the man the warmth of his body was welcome.

"I can't believe you're not mad."

His hair fluttered in the breeze, and Akihiko wished he could ruffle it like he always used to. He smiled sadly. "You know I couldn't stay mad at you if I tried."

"You should, though," said Misaki. He twisted around to look at him, frowning. "You should _hate_ me, but you're always treating me like I'm so perfect-"

"Because to _me_ , you _are_ perfect."

Misaki gasped quietly, but Akihiko refused to look away. They both knew that Misaki knew what he meant. Akihiko also knew that he was really, really overstepping his bounds now, but the more he looked at Misaki- strokes of moonlight on his porcelain skin and the fireflies looking ten times more beautiful reflected in the emerald of his eyes- the harder it was to hold himself back.

So he moved forwards. His heart was thumping. "Misaki…" Dammit, why did his voice have to tremble now? "Can't we…?"

"I-I don't know if…" Bewildered, Misaki shuffled backwards a little, wringing his hands. "Usagi-san, you deserve so much better than me-"

"Don't you dare say that," said Akihiko sharply. Misaki flinched, and he tried to soften his tone a little, though the unyielding sternness didn't leave his expression. "Okay, you fucked up. I fucked up too. But if there's one thing tonight has made me realise, it's that our mistakes don't define us!"

Misaki's eyes widened, and Akihiko thought _Oh, fuck it._ He'd already broken too many barriers. Though his nerves were jangling like bells, he reached forwards and took Misaki by the shoulders, his face level with the younger man's troubled one. He felt as stiff as a board. Akihiko didn't blame him; he was so tense himself he feared he might snap.

"If we can still forgive each other, and stand by each other like we did today," said Akihiko, trying not to grip the man too tightly, "doesn't that outweigh everything that's happened this year?"

Could Misaki feel his desperation as he struggled to reply? "You… You really think we can survive all that?"

"We're here now, aren't we?" Akihiko said. A shaky, nervous little laugh escaped him as something rather obvious occurred. "Besides, it's not like everything was always peachy for us in the first place.

"You remember how much we used to argue? How many obstacles we overcame?"

The editor paused then, thinking, and Akihiko knew he was remembering all the things they used to talk about on those walks of theirs. The time Misaki first met Aikawa-san and thought Akihiko was having an affair with her, or when Misaki got into Haruhiko's car and ended up getting kidnapped, or all those other little niggles: Akihiko smoked too much, Misaki never told him he loved him, Akihiko should stop writing porn about him without his permission, Misaki was too trusting, Akihiko too lazy, he was a nag and he was pervert and round and round they went, nearly every day. _And yet…_

Something that wasn't quite a smile tweaked at Misaki's mouth. "It was kind of a bumpy ride."

Akihiko nodded. "But I've never known happiness like it." He said earnestly. He kept staring at Misaki until he was forced to stare back, and went on in a near whisper, "Why throw something so precious away, when we can still fix it?"

Misaki's teeth dug into his lower lip. "I just… can't help wondering if it's beyond repair now," he confessed.

"That's for us to decide," said Akihiko without hesitation. After a moment or two, his hands glided- very slowly- from Misaki's shoulders, up along his neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake as they came to rest on either side of his face. The skin burned against Akihiko's cool palms, and Misaki didn't even try to hide it as he gazed into Akihiko's eyes, barely breathing, and waited.

It was now or never. "The way I feel about you hasn't changed," Akihiko murmured. His thumbs caressed Misaki's smooth skin with the delicacy of a butterfly's wings- Just like the ones in Akihiko's stomach. It was a strange feeling. Only this man could evoke such sensations within him. He pulled Misaki's face closer, allowing himself to get lost in the deep, green pools of his eyes. "Every day we were together was a dream come true, and even if the whole world is against us on it, we can have that back again, if that's what _we_ want."

For once Misaki didn't look away, not even when Akihiko's hand trailed down his arm and took one of his own smaller ones, lifting it to hold against his chest like he had done all those years ago- The time they first joined each other completely. He knew from the way Misaki's breath hitched that he understood. A silent communication was exchanged between them.

"And God knows it's what I want, Misaki."

"I…" Misaki didn't tug his hand away as Akihiko had feared. Instead, he closed his eyes and pressed it against Akihiko's chest, right above his racing heart, and sighed softly. They stayed completely still until he looked up again, and this time his expression- though shy- was very solemn and very, very sure. "All I want is for you to be happy, Usagi-san."

They both felt it as Akihiko's heartbeat grew even wilder. He leaned forwards, resting his forehead against Misaki's. The tips of their noses grazed, and just like that, the final barrier between them was down. Akihiko's hand tightened around his, pores tingling, eyes imploring.

"Then give me another chance," he whispered.

At first, the only movement in Misaki was the dancing of the fireflies in the lush, green depths of his half-lidded eyes. But then he turned his hand, so very warm, into Akihiko's, and their fingers twined slowly together and locked like puzzle pieces, and he felt Misaki's soft lips just barely brushing against his own as he whispered back.

"Only if you do the same for me."

* * *

Somewhere amidst the multitude of thoughts rushing through Misaki's mind, he knew he should be embarrassed, but, God… Kissing Usagi-san again was like a breath of fresh air after a year of slowly suffocating. His mouth was so soft, and he was holding him so _gently_ , like a precious jewel, and Misaki's heart was beating so fast he felt like it would burst from his chest. He wouldn't care if it did. He didn't care about anything. _This_ was what he wanted, what he had always wanted… Nothing but this.

It was tender at first, almost ridiculously so. But it didn't last long; soon enough the pent-up longing of the past ten months (was it ten? Eleven? He didn't care) broke free, and in no time at all they were clinging for dear life to each other, Misaki on his knees with his arms around Usagi-san's neck, the author pressing himself against him while his free hand stroked and tugged and tangled in his hair as if he couldn't get enough of it. Their lips crashed against each other so hard it was bruising, and their tongues sought each other out urgently, like a pair of long-lost lovers. They kissed and kissed and then stopped to breathe and then kissed even more, and when they were too weak with passion to stay sitting up they simply fell, Misaki landing in a flurry of fireflies with Usagi-san on top of him, refusing even then to release each other.

Misaki tried not to cry. He really did, but when they finally managed to tear their lips away from each other- both of them panting heavily- and he opened his eyes to meet a burning, amethyst gaze, and Usagi-san said "I missed you so much," in a voice that was breaking, Misaki broke too, hot tears welling and cascading down his cheeks in seconds.

"I'm s-sorry, Usagi-san…" he hiccupped, his fingers digging into the man's neck. "I m-messed up so b-bad…"

"And so did I," Usagi-san said. He brushed and kissed away Misaki's tears quickly, as if he couldn't bear to look at them. As he pushed himself off the smaller man on unsteady arms to catch his breath, Misaki was almost concerned by the state he was in; he was trembling all over. But it was okay, Misaki realised, because he was trembling too, and he was trembling with joy.

"But, no more apologies," Usagi-san said after he'd gathered himself. Misaki's arms- also exhausted, suddenly- slipped from his neck and came to rest on the ground either side of him, and the man above him immediately linked their fingers together again. "Let's just… start over. Can we do that?"

Sniffling, Misaki nodded. "Yeah, you're right…"

He looked up at Usagi-san and squeezed both his hands. Words suddenly tumbled from his lips. "But, it'll be different this time, right? We won't lie or keep secrets, and we'll trust each other, and…" He swallowed, feeling his already flushed face darken a shade, but he made himself hold Usagi-san's curious eyes. "I'll s-show you how important you are to me."

That had always been his biggest regret: never letting Usagi-san know how much he meant to him. Now that he'd been blessed with a second chance, Misaki vowed _not_ to make that same mistake again, and he wanted Usagi-san to know that no matter how embarrassing it was to say. Although, when Usagi-san responded with the most utterly _beautiful_ smile- brighter than any number of fireflies floating above his head- the embarrassment didn't feel quite so significant anymore.

"Agreed," said the author, breathing it out like a sigh of relief. Then, however, the smile morphed into a familiar, slanted smirk and he added, "Though, if you ask me, you already showed me this evening."

Misaki frowned up at him, puzzled, and Usagi-san shifted so that he was lying in the grass beside him, tracing the contours of Misaki's face with a hand that was cool and familiar in its touch (funny; Misaki used to complain about those icy hands to no end, but now he suddenly realised how much he'd missed them). Also familiar was the teasing twinkle in his lavender eyes. "Misaki Takahashi, kissing me on stage, in front of a hundred people on live television? I'm still not sure I'm fully conscious."

Misaki groaned; up until then, he'd half-believed _he_ wasn't fully conscious, either, but now the reality of his little stunt earlier that evening began to sink in. "I really did do that, didn't I?" he mumbled, practically dizzy with the heat in his face. He turned onto his side to face Usagi-san, closing his eyes in silent mortification. "God. Something tells me I'm never gonna live this one down."

Usagi-san's grin shone in the darkness. "So, why'd you do it?"

Fireflies were beginning to land on them both, pulsating like fairy lights. Misaki dislodged a few as he shrugged.

"Like I said, I'm done lying. To myself, and to everyone around me. I don't want to keep hiding the fact that I-"

He trailed off abruptly. Usagi-san lifted a hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Misaki's ear, tilting his head as he did so. "That you?"

Misaki took a deep, deep breath. "That I… love you, Usagi-san."

His stomach somersaulted just saying it. It felt... right. Right, but still strange. Stranger still was that while he expected Usagi-san to grin and tease him more, the author's face actually went slack with something like shock, and his eyes glazed over. Misaki heard him inhale, and it was a while before he managed to answer him.

"I love you too," he said, in a voice that was quiet and awed. They stared at each other for a moment, Misaki being unsure of what else he could possibly say, when suddenly he was grabbed and pulled upright, enveloped in the crushing embrace of two strong arms.

"Whu-?!"

"Oh, Misaki," Usagi-san, now holding the editor in his lap, buried his face in the crook of Misaki's neck as he collapsed. "I don't ever want to be apart from you again."

"Take it easy, you big sap," said Misaki, but he was smiling. He wrapped his arms around the older man in return; they were both half-soaked from the dew, but it didn't seem to matter. The man's hair was soft against his cheek. "We made up less than five minutes ago."

Usagi-san just nuzzled deeper into his shoulder. "Every minute without Misaki is a minute too long."

"Silly," Misaki said, trying not to choke on the single word. He closed his eyes, and for a long while the two of them simply sat there in the grass and held each other, breathing each other in.

Usagi-san smelled mostly of some fancy cologne he was probably forcibly sprayed with, but also faintly of cigarettes and still of Usagi-san. Misaki drank it in like a remedy. Even though the grass was wet and the breeze was cold, he couldn't think of anywhere else in the world where he felt warmer, or safer, or more completely and utterly adored. He rubbed the last of the tears from his eyes and shuffled around, leaning against Usagi-san's chest so he could watch the fireflies. The author held him close, and Misaki noted absently that he wouldn't mind it if time just froze at this single moment, a moment in which he felt like he and Usagi-san were the only waking people on the planet.

"So…" he said after a while, "What now?"

Usagi-san tucked Misaki's head underneath his chin. "Well, because of us, our boss's party was a fiasco, the two richest companies in Japan lost their business connection, my father got arrested, a beloved mangaka was hospitalised and the entire country witnessed it on TV, so all in all, I'd say we're pretty screwed."

"Wow," said Misaki. He blew out a breath. "Aren't we a pair of idiots."

Usagi-san hummed his agreement. "That we are." There was a certain lilt to his voice that Misaki hadn't heard from him in ages. He pressed a kiss into a dark head of hair. "In fact, I think I might be the happiest idiot in the world."

"And the corniest."

The deep chuckle that rumbled through his chest was oddly comforting. "Sorry. I'll work on that."

But Misaki, too tired for pretending and too happy to hide it, shook his head. Nestling closer to Usagi-san, he let out a contented sigh, feeling the summer wind on his skin and the strong, warm body wrapped around him, hearing the gently swaying grass and the chirping cicadas, watching the tiny, glowing specks of the fireflies outshine the moon and the stars alike in their slow, swirling, mesmerising dance.

"Just stay the way you are, you stupid rabbit."

* * *

 **More syrupy than a stack of pancakes? Yes. Am I ashamed? Nope!**

 **Well, there you have it. The moment I've been painstakingly inching towards from day one. XD I'm sorry to keep you guys waiting so long, but it really does feel so good to finally be able to share this chapter with you- I do hope it was worth it.**

 **Now, after all that, I know you may well be thinking, 'Squid, what was the point of all this? Why would you rip our babies apart and spend a year torturing them just for them to sappily get back together again? WHY WOULD PUT US THROUGH SUCH UNNECESSARY SUFFERING?! WHYYYYY?'**

 **Well, I'll tell you why. I did it because, as much as I love JR, the lack of character growth in the original has always bothered me. I wanted to see Misaki and Usagi-san actually learn something; I wanted real mistakes with real consequences, not just trivial misunderstandings. I wanted actual stakes to be raised. I wanted to see these two be strained and tested and pushed to their very limits, and** _ **still**_ **make it out the other side. Because that, in my opinion, is what Pure Romance is all about.**

 **Thank you very much for reading and I'll see you guys next time. ;)**


	53. Chapter 53

**Omg, an update in less than a week! Feels like forever since that's happened. XD**

 **I'm gonna be honest with you guys: I was really annoyed with myself for posting the last chapter in the state it was in. I was so excited to get it done and dusted that I missed a whole bunch of typos and bits that just read awkwardly, and for such a significant chapter I feel like I should have done better. I went back and made changes, but still, I hope none of you were too disappointed. You have my apologies.**

 **Anyway, I made sure to check this chapter more thoroughly; I'm basically just winding down the action and tying up all the loose ends now. It was kind of tricky to write Misaki and Usagi in this one, because I wanted to show that their characters have developed whilst still retaining the personalities we all know and love. Anyway, I hope you enjoy; remember the fluff I promised way back at the beginning? Yeah, that's going to come in spades now. XD**

* * *

With Akihiko's condo still too much of a risk, the two of them drove to Misaki's apartment and spent the night on the couch (it felt a little soon for the bedroom), knowing it was unwise but not wanting to separate. It was strange at first, and awkward, but by the time they drifted off their arms and legs were tangled together, and their lips were swollen and kiss-bruised. The couch was cramped and uncomfortable, and they slept like logs even so.

The latter half of the night had passed in a dream-like haze for Akihiko. An image of Misaki lying beside him in the grass, looking so breathtaking in the moonlight with fireflies twinkling in his hair, played in his mind on loop as he slept, as if his brain was still trying to comprehend such a picture. It simply seemed too good to be true; so much so, in fact, that when Akihiko awoke the next morning- immediately noticing the absence of Misaki's warmth beside him- he feared for one heart-stopping moment that he'd merely dreamed everything. But then he felt the scratchy, unfamiliar couch cushions beneath his cheek, and when he opened his eyes they were met with an editor's cluttered coffee table.

He breathed a sigh, melting into the cushions with relief. It _had_ really happened. He'd gotten away. He'd gotten _Misaki_.

A lazy smile played on his lips, and it grew when he noticed something he hadn't experienced in a long, long time: the smell of breakfast. Peeking over the armrest, he saw Misaki himself standing at the stove, wearing an apron over the same rumpled shirt and sweatpants he'd slept in and looking frankly more edible than the omelettes he was making.

Quietly, Akihiko rose from the couch, the usual morning grogginess seeming to have made him a rare exception today. He began to sneak towards the tiny kitchenette. He'd made a promise last night, as he cradled the sleeping Misaki close to him, to both of them; that he would honour his beloved's wish and do his best to change. To be better. But at the same time… Misaki didn't expect his rabbit to _completely_ change his spots, did he?

Akihiko certainly hoped not, because creeping up and grabbing Misaki from behind for the first time in a year was possibly the most satisfying feeling in the whole world.

"Good morning," he said as Misaki shrieked and flailed.

"Fucking _hell_ , Usagi-san!" The eggs sizzled as the pan teetered; Misaki only just managed not to spill them everywhere. Setting them back on the stove, he twisted around and gave his attacker a typical Misaki glare, but the subtle curve of his mouth did not go unnoticed. Nor did his leaning back against Akihiko's bare chest as he returned to his cooking.

"Honestly," he said, in a chiding but much milder voice, "I get up and cook your favourite breakfast, and you thank me by nearly setting me on fire?"

Settling his arms more firmly around Misaki's waist, Akihiko simply pecked the man on the cheek. Just being able to perform such an act- to shower his affection onto Misaki without restraint- made him ridiculously happy.

"I've missed pouncing you."

Misaki tutted. "Well, _I_ sure haven't."

A grin spread across Akihiko's face as he nuzzled in closer. "Come on, now," he said into Misaki's ear, "You said yourself last night that we should be more honest with each other."

Though the editor scoffed at this, he showed that he wasn't really mad in his usual fashion: by popping a scrap of bacon into Akihiko's mouth.

"You better be careful," he said, shuffling the omelettes onto a plate and starting to roll them. "Don't think I won't send you straight back to that bucktoothed creep and his daughter if you keep making a nuisance of yourself."

This time they both laughed, though Akihiko's had a slight dryness to it. "I highly doubt the Yamatos will want anything to do with me after yesterday's performance."

The chopsticks pushing the bacon around faltered. "It'll be all over the news by now, won't it?" said Misaki, and though it was spoken casually enough Akihiko could hear the anxious ring to his voice. The slender body in his arms stiffened fractionally.

Resting his chin atop Misaki's sleep-ruffled hair, the author considered his next words carefully. Did Misaki regret his decision to reveal them both last night? He supposed it had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, but he hoped not. Either way, he knew that Misaki was afraid- The fearlessness that accompanied his fits of rage never lasted long. Akihiko restated in his mind yesterday's simile; Misaki truly was like a little firework. Flaring up, fizzling out, and most of all, filling Akihiko's world with light and colour…

Choosing what to say became suddenly easy. "It'll be alright," Akihiko told him, tilting Misaki's head up to look at him. Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window and brightened the green of his eyes, and he looked so much like a goddamn angel that Akihiko couldn't help but smile. "We're together now. As long as we have each other, we have nothing to worry about. I know it."

After a moment or two, Misaki smiled back. They exchanged a shy, sweet kiss, and then the younger man shovelled bacon rashers onto their plates with a barely perceptible blush.

"I don't have a table, so we'll have to eat on the couch," he said as he handed one to Akihiko.

"That's okay." He followed Misaki back into the lounge area, stepping over a stacked manuscript of that horrible cooking manga. Though it was nothing he wasn't used to in his own home, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't surprised by the usually neat and orderly Misaki's haphazard apartment. He cleared his throat as they sat. "Nice place you've got here."

Seeing through him in an instant, Misaki speared a slice of bacon and raised a brow. "No need to humour me," he said, chewing. "I'm sorry it's such a wreck at the moment."

In all honesty, Akihiko couldn't care less whether they were eating at a decadent dining table or balancing plates on their laps on a scrappy sofa. All that mattered was that he and Misaki were having breakfast together. Still, for the sake of teasing, he grabbed a greasy takeout container from the coffee table and inspected it.

"Mess and junk food," he said with mock disapproval. "Are you sure you're the real Misaki?"

"Housekeeping becomes the least of your worries when you're a full-time editor," Misaki replied, nudging Akihiko's knee with his own. "You of all people should know that, what with all the crap you give Aikawa-san."

At the mention of her, Akihiko's sky-high spirits sank a little. "Well, lucky for her she won't have to put up with me for much longer."

With his fork halfway to his mouth, Misaki paused. "What?"

"She quit," Akihiko explained. Immediately, Misaki's face fell.

"She's leaving Marukawa? How come?"

Making quick work of his omelette (God, it was good to eat some real food), Akihiko shrugged. "You saw how she responded to Isaka-san's slideshow last night," he said, feeling grateful despite his sadness as he recalled how his editor had come to his rescue one last time. "She said she can't work for him anymore. Can't say I blame her, to be honest."

Though his plate was only half cleared, Misaki slowly and thoughtfully set down his fork. "Yeah. Me neither."

They looked at each other. Each of their eyes held the same thought, and they opened their mouths to speak simultaneously when- as they'd been anticipating since last night- the doorbell rang.

Misaki's face paled, and Akihiko, concerned, asked, "Want me to get that?"

But the editor shook his head. "No, you should stay here in case… Um, finish your breakfast," he said, changing tack as he moved on noticeably unsteady legs towards the door.

 _Maybe it's just the mailman_ , Akihiko thought, setting down his plate as his appetite left him. Unfortunately, once the door was open, the voice that greeted Misaki good morning was all too familiar, and the eggs and bacon in Akihiko's stomach curdled with distaste as the intruder practically pushed his way into the apartment.

"Ooh, smells good. Got a guest over for breakfast or something, chibi-tan?" Isaka-san, with a very nervous Misaki trotting after him, strode into the lounge area and immediately clapped eyes on Akihiko. Though he looked tired, he was clad in a fresh suit, and upon seeing the author he grinned slyly. "Ah, Akihiko. I had a feeling I might find you here."

Akihiko suddenly wished he had a pack of smokes on him. "What a delight to see you first thing in the morning, Isaka-san."

Ignoring the blatant sarcasm, Isaka-san instead eyed Akihiko's naked torso. "So," he said, eyes twinkling, "I trust you two had a better night that I did?"

Whilst Akihiko only made a face, Misaki flushed bright red and coughed loudly, hurrying to grab the author's shirt from where he'd hung it up to dry. "M-make yourself decent, Usagi-san," he said, chucking the deep purple garment at him. "We have a guest."

Even though they hadn't actually done anything, he could understand why Misaki was so flustered; he'd known as soon as Isaka-san arrived that he'd brought the consequences of yesterday's actions with him. As Akihiko caught the shirt one-handed and began to slip it on, Isaka-san himself directed his attention towards his younger employee.

"Oh, you're 'we' again, are you?" he purred, and Misaki froze to the spot.

"Uh…" He swallowed, but managed to stutter out, "S-sort of?"

Though it made him happy to see Misaki sticking to his resolve, his obvious discomfort in Isaka-san's presence bothered Akihiko. Shirt only buttoned halfway, he rose from the couch and stood at Misaki's side, and though he made no move to touch him, the author's protectiveness was evident from his stance alone. "Problem, Isaka-san?"

His narrowed eyes just dared the director to take up the challenge in his tone. Let the fucker try and take away what Akihiko had just gotten back, and see what happened. To both his and Misaki's surprise, however, Isaka-san only snickered at the author's fierce glare and shook his head.

"No problem at all, Akihiko. Quite the opposite, in fact."

Exchanging a puzzled glance with Misaki, Akihiko opened his mouth to question their boss when he was cut off again.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, you two," he said, and though the cheeriness remained, something in his demeanour sharpened. "I was less than impressed with your little stunt last night. If you didn't know, on top of what we already spent on the party, we had to pay twenty million yen in damages after Ijuuin-sensei went and flattened half the orchestra pit. And speaking of him, we also had to cover his hospital bill. That grand piano did more damage to his head than vice-versa."

Despite his opinion of the mangaka, Akihiko winced with empathy, and Misaki turned a few shades paler beside him. Isaka-san noted their expressions with satisfaction, poking his artist's still-exposed chest.

"Ordinarily, I'd kick your ass, Akihiko, and I'd kick you _out_ faster than shit off a shovel." This last part was directed at Misaki, who stepped back as Isaka-san stooped so as to be level with him. "You made quite the scene yesterday, hm, chibi-tan?"

The editor managed a defiant if rather wobbly frown in response. Though Isaka-san was far too close to him for Akihiko's liking, he resisted the urge to jump to his defence. If Misaki had proved anything on that stage, it was that he could hold his own.

And so he did, albeit timidly. "W-well, Isaka-san, if you hadn't tried to make Usa- I mean, Akihiko-san do something he didn't want to, th-then none of that stuff would have happened…"

"Oh, it's _my_ fault, is it?" said Isaka-san, drawing back and raising his eyebrows. He saw Misaki's glare at his mocking tone, and returned it with a warning one of his own. "You're damn lucky I still have some use for you, Takahashi, or that attitude wouldn't wash quite so easily. Thin ice, got it?"

Reddening, Misaki bunched the hem of his creased T-shirt in his fists. "Wh-what do you mean 'use', Isaka-san?"

"Lay off him, Isaka," Akihiko snapped, losing his patience. Misaki, for once, actually seemed to appreciate the backup as he sidled closer to the author. "Your argument's not with him. If you want the money back, just take it out of my pay check and leave us be."

Before Misaki could protest against that, the old Isaka grin suddenly reappeared. His ability to flick through personas like TV channels was unsettling. Leaning against the nearest armrest- ignoring the disgruntled look he got from the couch's owner- he crossed his legs and his arms in a weirdly triumphant manner.

"Well, that's the thing," he told them. "In spite of the fairly spectacular mess the both of you made, we didn't actually lose any money. In fact, we _profited_ from it."

This earned him twin frowns from his employees. "Profited?" Misaki echoed. "But you said…"

"Usami Corps reimbursed us, you see," Isaka-san explained. Seeing the lines of confusion in Akihiko's brow deepen, he went on, "Well, to be exact, Haruhiko-chan did. Now that Usami-san's in the slammer for who knows how long, he's in charge of the company funds, and he said since his father started all this it was only fair that he pay for it out of his own pocket. He covered the party, Ijuuin's operation, the works.

"So at the end of the day, Marukawa didn't have to spend a single penny. Nice, huh? You'd better thank your brother, Akihiko, 'cause if it weren't for him you can bet your ass the entire bill would be on you."

"Woah, hold on a second," said Misaki, whom Akihiko knew was not the slightest bit interested in the financial details. He looked slightly alarmed. "Usami-san's actually going to get time? Just for slapping me once and accidentally pushing Ijuuin-sensei off the stage?"

His thoughts mirrored Akihiko's, who was doing his best to look concerned despite the urge to leap into a jubilant jumping jig.

Isaka-san chuckled. "Well, neither of those things exactly helped matters, but what he actually got done for was punching a police officer." When this elicited pop-eyed stares of the others, he merely shrugged. "I guess when he can't bribe his way out of something, his temper is all he has left. Must be where you get it from, Akihiko."

The author ignored the quip. "Well, fuck." _Not that I'm complaining or anything_. Trust Fuyuhiko Usami. Akihiko wished he could have been there to see him thrown behind bars.

"Yeah. Even if he gets out, he'll have a pretty hefty fine on his hands," said Isaka-san, and added, "It's not looking too good for Yamato, either, even though he tried to play innocent. They've pretty much gone from the two most powerful CEOs in the country to a national disgrace overnight."

Misaki bit his lower lip. "I bet the media was all over them."

"Oh, they've been all over _everything_." Clapping his hands gleefully together, Isaka-san's grin widened to Cheshire Cat proportions. Akihiko still didn't understand his elation; maybe he was just happy to see the author's reputation go down the toilet in exchange for ruining his party. Pulling out his phone, their boss motioned for both him and Misaki to gather round. "What, you haven't seen the news yet? Just _look_ at these headlines…"

They did so, Akihiko leaning against the sofa back to peer over the shorter man's shoulder. Sure enough, the second Isaka-san opened the news app, freshly posted articles from just about every major tabloid, magazine and paper in Japan popped up, each of them displaying one of just two images: a photo of Akihiko and Misaki on stage, locked in their passionate embrace, and one of Fuyuhiko locked in an equally passionate but not-quite-so-tender struggle with Ijuuin. Though the pictures were few, the headlines themselves varied rather broadly in their wording.

 _Director of Usami Corps Punches Cop on Violent Rampage! Video Here_

 _DRAMA BOMB! Corporate Heir Ditches New Fiancée for Ex-Boyfriend during Engagement Speech!_

 _Forbidden Love? Arranged Celebrity Marriage Thwarted by Vengeful Ex…_

 _Epic Publicity Stunt FAIL at Teito Hotel… See Pics_

 _Scheming Millionaire Blackmails Gay Son into Arranged Marriage, Hospitalises Popular Mangaka._

It was the Holy Grail of all gossip stories.

Lifting his eyes from the screen, Akihiko looked over at Misaki, who was standing at Isaka-san's other flank. Not being as fast a reader as the novelist, his eyes were still skimming the articles, and with each line they read a little more colour drained from his drawn cheeks.

Eventually, he just said, "Yikes."

"Yikes indeed," said Isaka-san breezily, tucking his phone away again.

Beckoning the pale-faced Misaki over, Akihiko gave him what he hoped was a comforting hair ruffle. The editor leaned into his side, and he frowned at Isaka-san. Had he come here simply to mock them both? If so, Akihiko would tolerate that on his own behalf, but certainly not on Misaki's. He could all but feel the man's anxiety as he shrank against him, though he knew he was trying to hide it. He let his fingers rest in tousled locks.

"So, my reputation _and_ yours have gone to shit," he reminded the director. "You're happy about that why, exactly?"

How he expected Isaka-san to respond to that, he didn't know, but it certainly wasn't with the loud and hearty laugh that the director suddenly let out, startling his employees.

"'Gone to shit'?" he repeated, as if Akihiko had cracked some hilarious joke. He reproduced his phone, waving it at the author's face with a little too much enthusiasm. Akihiko raised an eyebrow. "Akihiko, have you _read_ these articles? The comments? People are loving you!

"You too, Takahashi," he added, winking. Like a shy mouse emerging from its burrow, Misaki pulled away from Akihiko just a bit.

"L-loving us?"

"I don't understand," Akihiko said.

Even as they spoke, Isaka-san's device kept buzzing with notifications. He explained as he scrolled: "Well, okay- The reception was mixed. Always is with this stuff. But once the story about you two went viral, the younger crowd in particular have just been _drooling_ over it… Seriously, look at these comments," he said, thrusting the screen underneath Akihiko's nose, "They're calling it the 'bravest act of true love and pride of the whole year' and all kinds of sappy shit."

Unable to actually read the comments with the way Isaka-san's arm was excitedly flailing, Akihiko simply blinked. "Huh."

It didn't make a whole lot of difference to him, truth be told; he'd never cared what the public thought of him. Misaki, on the other hand, was staring at Isaka-san with the wide, apprehensive eyes of a man who hardly dared believe what he was hearing.

"That can't be right… No way."

"They applauded us yesterday," Akihiko pointed out.

"I know, but I just thought… I was _sure_ …" said Misaki, and his brow bunched. Akihiko remembered again how very overwhelming this must be for someone like him; so tender despite how he'd matured, and for whom to tell the world that he loved another man was step out into vast, uncharted and perilous land. "I was afraid of this for so long, because I _thought_ …"

He shook his head, trailing off, and Isaka-san stepped forwards to clap him on the shoulder.

"Times have changed, chibi-tan," he said simply. "You and Akihiko are hot stuff. Enjoy it."

"But what about you?" Akihiko asked him. As Misaki took the opportunity to slip away for some air (clearing his and Akihiko's dishes as an excuse), he eyed Isaka-san quizzically; he was beginning to look annoyingly smug in that pristine suit of his. "Aren't you in disgrace just like my father? You're one of the dastardly villains that tried to rip my true love and I apart, after all."

Isaka-san, however, gave a roguish little smile as if he was in on some big secret, and shook his head.

"Now, who said I had anything to do with that, Akihiko?" he drawled. "As far as the press and the public know, Usami and Yamato are the bad guys, not _me_. I'm just your boss, and Takahashi's too… Which brings me to my next point of business."

There was his favourite word again: _business_. Disgusted, Akihiko turned away with a grimace. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

He didn't know what was coming, but he wanted no part of it. Still leaning on the armrest, Isaka-san tut-tutted like a disappointed mother.

"You're going to have to be a lot more polite than that during all your upcoming interviews."

Looking back at him, Akihiko raised his eyebrows. "Come again?"

Though he'd finished with most of the dishes, Misaki lingered in the kitchen, watching them uncertainly. There was a hungry glint in Isaka-san's eyes that Akihiko didn't like the look of one bit.

"This thing with you and Takahashi is possibly the biggest scoop of the season, Akihiko," he said, barely suppressed delight bubbling up into his voice. "Everyone wants a piece of you, and I mean _everyone_. Do you have any idea how much money they're already offering, just for one interview with the two of you?"

He pushed off the couch and began pacing restlessly, his hands flying about in exaggerated gestures; an apparent outlet for the director's immense excitement. "I've had people asking for photo shoots, features in big magazines, TV interviews… It's gonna be huge!" he exclaimed. "Way bigger than our original plan with the Yamatos, that's for sure. The two of you are a hit, and believe me when I say I'm going to make the most of you."

He spoke with a wolfish greed that seemed to permeate every fibre of his being; his calculating, cold blue eyes, his gleaming grin. Akihiko felt sick. He glanced at the kitchen to see Misaki looking similarly repulsed, the nervousness having been replaced with something significantly darker as his green eyes followed the director. They caught Akihiko's for a moment, and the two nodded to one another in silent agreement.

"… So, lucky for you, Takahashi, I'll be letting you keep your job with us for now," Isaka-san was saying, calling across to the kitchenette. He flashed Misaki a smile that held absolutely no kindness. "Well, at least until your time in the limelight is up. Then we'll have to see."

Calmly placing the plate he was holding in the sink, Misaki smiled back.

"Thanks, Isaka-san, but there's no need. I don't think I'll ever be coming back to Marukawa."

Isaka-san's white teeth shrank away. "What?"

Meanwhile, Akihiko had been rummaging through his suit jacket, which Misaki had left hanging up beside his shirt. When he found what he was looking for- a half-empty pack of smokes and a lighter-he carried them back to the couch where he made himself comfortable. "Seconded."

Isaka-san whipped his head towards him as the lighter sparked, paling at a remarkable rate. "Akihiko," he said.

Swinging his legs up onto the coffee table, Akihiko took a long, pleasant drag. "I'm with Aikawa-san. Who wants to work for a manipulative asshole like you?" He took no notice of the horror unfurling on Isaka-san's face. "You can forget about exploiting us any further. The only people who are going to profit from mine and Misaki's love are _us_."

Misaki came to join him on the couch as he said this, and Isaka-san gaped at them both. The blatant panic in his eyes made Akihiko hard pressed not to laugh.

"You're both being ridiculous," he said, trying and utterly failing to keep the shake out of his voice. "You can't just up and leave."

Akihiko blew a jet of smoke towards him. "Are you going to stop us?"

"I _own_ you, Akihiko," he said, louder. He waved smoke away as he stepped towards the novelist, glaring, and Misaki flinched. "You're contracted to _me_. You do what I tell you, you say what I tell you, and you _stay_ where I tell you. If you think you can just walk away without a fight-"

"Oh, I think you know better than anyone that I'm perfectly willing to fight, Isaka-san," Akihiko interrupted. The older man's jawline hardened, and Akihiko (for lack of a better receptacle) tapped ash onto one of the _Kan_ pages on the coffee table at a leisurely pace. "Hire a hundred lawyers if you want. It won't make any difference, because I've already won. I have everything I could ever want, and nobody can take that away from me. Not you, not my father, not anyone."

Without taking his eyes off Isaka-san, his fingers crept across the couch cushions and laced with Misaki's. The smaller hand gave his a quick squeeze. "You can't touch us, Isaka. And you won't use us."

Dropping his eyes to their intertwined fingers for a couple of seconds, Isaka-san slowly withdrew. All trace of false cheer had vanished from his features; he regarded them with quiet fury.

"Yeah?" he said, his mouth set in a grim, tight-lipped line. "And where will you go, hm? What will the two of you do without _my_ company paying your bills? You think you can just live off daddy's credit card, Akihiko, after you landed him in jail?"

Akihiko was undeterred. With his free hand, he removed the cigarette from his mouth, allowing it to rest loosely between his fingers. "You said it yourself, Isaka-san," he said. "Everyone wants a piece of us. We can go wherever the hell we want."

"That's right," said Misaki. The words seemed to have bolstered him; he suddenly didn't look at all afraid as he let go of Akihiko's hand, instead moving his arm around the author's waist. Akihiko draped his own over Misaki's shoulders, and together they formed one protective barrier against the man standing above them. "We win, Isaka-san."

Isaka-san ignored him, glowering at Akihiko. "I'll tell you exactly where you can go, you piece of-"

"I wouldn't touch him unless you want another hospital bill on your hands," said Misaki, before Isaka-san could lunge. Despite what he'd seen yesterday, the fierceness of the threat surprised Akihiko. Isaka-san simply scoffed, sneering at the two of them but retreating even so.

"You're both morons." Jamming his hands into the pockets of his smart suit jacket, he stalked out of the living room and towards the door, calling over his shoulder. "You'll be back, and don't think I won't give you both hell when you are."

"I'll bear that in mind when the interviewers ask me why I left." As Isaka-san halted in the entryway, Akihiko gave him a smile that would have made his father proud and waved the cigarette at him. "Take care, Isaka-san."

Their ex-boss, with one last, livid look over his shoulder, left with a door slam that was positively musical to Akihiko's ears.

"And good fucking riddance," he said when he was gone, taking another drag and stretching. The smoke left his lungs in a satisfied sigh. Whether it was the nicotine or not, he wasn't sure, but Akihiko felt on top of the very world. Just yesterday, he'd all but resigned himself to a loveless life of nobility, lies and misery; and now, here he was on a homey second-hand couch, in an apartment that smelled of bacon and omelettes, a home-cooked meal in his stomach and the man of his dreams at his side. He rested his slightly stubbled cheek against the top of Misaki's head. "Can you believe that guy?"

He couldn't see Misaki's face from the angle he was at, but he felt the man's skinny arm tighten around his waist.

"I can't believe _any_ of this," he said, in a much smaller voice than the one he'd used to threaten Isaka-san. "It's just… blown up overnight."

"Word gets around fast these days," Akihiko murmured. Happy as he was, he only wished he were able to shield Misaki from what he knew was to come- even if it wasn't the dark and hateful doom he'd been expecting. He stubbed out his cigarette on Ijuuin's storyboard, using the freed hand to cup Misaki's face.

"Are you okay?"

Green eyes avoided his as the younger man sighed. "I don't know. I'm not sure I can handle all this… attention, positive or negative…"

Akihiko could see the bewilderment in his face. A nobody one day, and a hot topic the next. He knew the man's unease had in part been caused by Isaka-san's arrival, and he couldn't wait to slam the fucker in his next interview and expose him for what he really was.

His thumb ran over Misaki's cheek. "It's going to be tough for a while," he said, seeing no point in sugar-coating it.

"I know," Misaki replied. He met Akihiko's gaze and, though his was still a little worried, managed a small, genuine smile. "But, like you said… We'll be fine as long as we have each other's backs, right?"

"Of course we will," said Akihiko, and kissed his forehead. "We win, remember?"

The look Misaki gave him just melted Akihiko's heart. "Yeah."

They leaned towards each other, eyelids already drifting closed, but before their lips could touch Misaki's phone suddenly rang. Sheepishly, he rolled his eyes and drew back to dig the device from his pocket, making to decline the call before he noticed the ID. He faltered.

"Oh…"

"Who is it?" Akihiko asked.

Swallowing, Misaki held the phone out and wordlessly showed Akihiko the screen. **'Nii-chan'**.

"Ah."

In all honesty, Akihiko had completely forgotten about him; he'd been too caught up in the joy of his reunion with Misaki. How on earth would he react to… well, everything? Misaki was obviously thinking the same thing as he nibbled on his bottom lip, staring at the screen of his phone with a furrowed brow. The rings sliced insistently through the sudden silence.

"Are you going to answer?" A pause. "If you need time-"

"No," said Misaki unexpectedly. The author looked at him, and he shakily but surely shook his head.

"No. No time like the present, right?"

An indefinable sense of pride welled within Akihiko. He nodded. With a single, deep breath, Misaki grabbed his hand for support, brought the phone to his ear and took the call.

* * *

 **I almost wrote half of this from Misaki's POV just so I could talk about how sexy Akihiko looks smoking with his shirt open. XD**

 **Honestly, I feel like the drastic switch from extreme angst to extreme fluff in this chapter was perhaps a tad unrealistic? But on the other hand I don't want to drag this thing out for much longer, and I'm sure you guys were craving the fluff anyway. :P**

 **If you're wondering what comes next, there are two more chapters to go before everything is boxed off. BTW, some people mentioned that they were expecting some lemoniness last chapter. I'm sorry to disappoint, but I'm _very_ inexperienced when it comes to writing that sort of thing, and I don't want to fuck up the end of my fic with a bad smut scene. So, yeah; the next chapter may have a bit of a citrus twist, but I'm afraid we won't be straying very far into the lemon grove. ;)**

 **Anyway. I was hoping to finish the story by the end of the week, but I'm not sure that's still a possibility. In any case, I'll have the next chapter up ASAP, so please tell me your thoughts in the reviews for now.**

 **Thanks for reading, everyone! :)**


	54. Chapter 54

**IMPORTANT MESSAGE (08/05): As some of you may be aware, there has recently been a huge glitch here on FF which has prevented chapter updates from being e-mailed to followers. It's a very annoying problem as I have no other means of letting you guys know when a new chapter is up (these two were posted on 06/05). I don't know when this will be fixed or what will happen when it is, but it's possible that the people following this story will receive a flood of e-mails, because I deleted and re-posted these two chapters several times trying to check if the problem was fixed. I apologise for any confusion this may have caused.**

 **(The below is my original A/N)**

 **This was supposed to be one chapter consisting of one section from Misaki's POV and one from Akihiko's. However, just like everything else I write, it got way longer than I expected, and so I've split the sections into two separate chapters. For reasons I've explained more clearly in my log (check my profile), I'm having trouble with the last few chapters, but even so, I hope you enjoy these two.**

* * *

The whole 'starting over' process was a strange one. It wasn't like Misaki was getting into a new relationship; nor did it feel as if he'd simply resumed his old one. It was somewhere in the middle.

On the one hand, falling back into his old rapport with Usagi-san was virtually effortless, the two of them pushing past the initial hesitancy and clicking back together so quickly it was if the year-long separation never even happened. And yet, as time went by after their reunion, and they each worked at keeping their promise to improve themselves and their relationship… there was a sense of something else blossoming between them. Something that hadn't been there before.

It was still hard at times, just as they'd both anticipated. In the aftermath of Isaka-san's disastrous party, Misaki and Usagi-san couldn't seem to go _anywhere_ without someone recognising them- especially if they were together- and whilst it wasn't as bad as being permanently outcast as Misaki had feared, it turned out being an overnight pseudo-celebrity couple had its own ups and downs. Even something as simple as going out for coffee felt like some kind of circus act. People, whether it was the paparazzi and their cameras or just ordinary onlookers with their phones, blatantly photographed them wherever they were, and new (and often untruthful) articles about them were popping up in all kinds of gossip magazines. Sometimes reporters thrust microphones under their noses or tailed them for blocks; often they were so intrusive that the objects of their attention would have to run for cover mid-date.

Even when no-one was hounding them, they still pointed, whispered, goggled, and whilst it seemed to simply roll off Usagi-san- he'd had most of his life to get used to such treatment, after all- it became quite a strain on Misaki's nerves to feel so many stares on him whenever he stepped foot outside. Sometimes they were merely curious stares, or adoring and admiring. Sometimes they weren't. Sometimes people stopped them not to interrogate or photograph them, but to shout things. Hateful things. Things that made Misaki's muscles tense and his insides squirm, made him twitch and glance around nervously when he heard whispers behind his back, made him, occasionally, forget his promise, and snarl when Usagi-san said something sappy to him and flinch away when he tried to take his hand in public.

But that, funnily enough, was where the real change in them began to show through. Now when Misaki slapped Usagi-san's fingers away, eyes darting fearfully at the onlookers, Usagi-san never closed off and frosted over like he used to. Instead, he would calmly but insistently take Misaki's hand again, and he'd give him that smile; the one that said, _it's okay_.

And whilst the squirming insides and jangling nerves didn't let up even slightly as the weeks passed, eventually Misaki found himself clutching his rabbit's paw tightly and smiling back.

* * *

So things continued for the next month. Misaki was still shying, fussing, nagging Misaki, and Usagi-san was still lazing, money-splashing, perving Usagi-san, but there was something more to them now. They'd grown. The feeling was a blend of the familiar and the new, and though it was strange, Misaki couldn't say he disliked it. In fact, there was something exciting about it. It was a doubly delightful combination: the exhilarating uncertainty of falling for someone for the first time, together with the intimacy of a love as old as time itself.

On a pleasant mid-August afternoon- the day before Misaki's birthday, to be exact- he was kneeling on the floor of his living room, now bare apart from the rickety old couch and coffee table, packing the last of his stuff into a cardboard box. Takahiro was leaning against the kitchen counter, frowning down at his phone.

"It's so weird seeing your face all over the internet," he said, pocketing the device and glancing over at his brother.

Folding jeans and sweatshirts, Misaki snorted. "You're telling me," he said, squashing the clothes down as he tried to fit them all in the box. "A bunch of schoolgirls came running over to take selfies with me just the other day."

Takahiro wandered on newly-healed legs across the kitchen to open a cupboard. "Yeah, everyone at work's been asking about you, too… That's the problem with hanging your family pictures all over the office, I guess," he muttered. Misaki felt a pang of guilt; it had been self-absorbed of him to think he and Usagi-san were the only ones inconvenienced by all this.

Taking a glass from the cupboard, Takahiro twisted round and showed it to him. "Are you leaving these?"

Misaki considered as he sealed the box with parcel tape. "Pack just a few of them for me, if you wouldn't mind."

Though there had definitely been a remarkable change in him over the past year, Misaki was quite certain that distinguishing between heat-proof and ordinary glasses was something Usagi-san would never be able to grasp. A few extras would come in handy at home.

His heart leapt a little as he thought that. _Home_ , his mind repeated joyfully. _I'm going home_.

Meanwhile, Takahiro was rolling the glasses up in bubble wrap. His brow, as it had been when he arrived, was a little more pinched than usual, his lips a little thinner. Seeing the look on his face made the happy bubble inside Misaki deflate a little.

His older brother had, of course, heard about Misaki and Usagi-san the same way everyone else had: via the news. Even though he hadn't responded furiously, like he had done the first time, Misaki still wished he'd been able to break it to him himself. His phone call with Takahiro the morning after the party had been one of the longest and most excruciating of his life. His stomach still twisted uncomfortably as he remembered sitting there with his brother's bewildered voice in his ear, Usagi-san patiently holding his sweaty hand as Misaki's fingernails bit into his skin, trying desperately to explain himself to Takahiro, who couldn't understand why Misaki was suddenly speaking so highly of the man he'd been claiming to despise for months.

He should be thankful enough that Takahiro had accepted his decision, he supposed, pulling up another cardboard box. Nevertheless, it was clear that while he accepted, the elder Takahashi did not approve.

 _But is it_ me _he disapproves of? Or just…_

His movements slowing a little as he packed his final box, Misaki raised his eyes tentatively to his brother. "Um… Thanks for helping today, Nii-chan. I appreciate it."

Takahiro didn't look up from the counter. "It's no trouble, Misaki."

"I know, but…"

"But what?"

The question came sharply. Wincing just a little, Misaki answered rather hesitantly, "Well, just… I know these last few weeks have been a little, um, challenging for you because of me, so…"

"Misaki, we already talked about this," Takahiro interrupted. He was securing the bubble-wrapped glasses with tape, ripping off pieces with his teeth and frowning. "You're not any kind of burden on me. I wish you'd stop acting like it."

Misaki swallowed. "Sorry," he said quietly.

His eyes drifted downwards to his lap, where he was holding the last two items for packing: the photo of his family, and the little rabbit plush. His fingers tightened in the grey fur.

Over in the kitchen, he heard Takahiro sigh.

"Look," he said, and when Misaki did so he was cramming the last of the glasses into a box. A little awkwardly, he pushed up his glasses and walked over to sit on the threadbare couch. "You're not still thinking I'm ashamed of you, are you? Because I told you I'm not," he added when Misaki remained silent.

Misaki kept his eyes fixed on Takahiro's shoes. "But you are mad," he said.

"I'm not _mad_." Apparently sensing that his brother was unconvinced, Takahiro removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes in a weary manner. "I'm just… a little concerned, Misaki. That's all."

Misaki could see his reddening face reflected in the little rabbit's eyes. He was sure if it was anyone _other_ than Usagi-san, Takahiro wouldn't care.

"J-just because he's a little older than me…"

But Takahiro shook his head. "It's not even _him_ that bothers me," he said, and Misaki looked up to see him gesturing about with his hands. His face was troubled. "It's all _this_. People harassing you, stalking you, even. Everyone spreading your pictures across the internet and knowing where you live. It makes me worry.

"And I _know_ you don't want me to worry," he said sternly as Misaki opened his mouth to protest. "But I will, because you're my baby brother, and you will be no matter how old you get."

Misaki gave him a tiny smile. "I get it, Nii-chan, but there's really nothing to worry about."

"Isn't there?" said Takahiro, replacing his glasses and eyeing Misaki sceptically from behind them. "You were a nervous wreck when this all started."

A hot, embarrassed wave swept over Misaki as he remembered his worst moments over the past crazy month- But it didn't last long.

"I'm getting better at that," he said. He smiled more widely, and a different kind of flush rose to his cheeks. "Usagi-san always helps me feel better."

As he always did when Misaki spoke about Usagi-san this way, his brother looked slightly uncomfortable. It was strange and a little sad to see such behaviour from him; Takahiro, who used to gush for hours at a time about how much he admired his best friend.

"I know he does, Misaki," he said, as though reluctant to admit it. "I know, but… it still seems awfully soon to be moving back in with him, doesn't it? Maybe you should think about it a little more."

Quietly, Misaki sighed. He knew Takahiro had a point; no-one could deny that a mere month was rushing things, even if they had already lived together for years. But in all honesty, it didn't really bother Misaki, and he was sure it didn't bother Usagi-san either. The whole pretence of 'Oh, let's just give things another shot and see how it goes' was, if anything, a simple formality for them. Neither one of them was ever going anywhere again, and they both knew it.

And now, four overwhelming weeks later, Misaki was done with formalities. He wanted his old life with Usagi-san back.

"I've already thought about it lots, Nii-chan," he said matter-of-factly. Placing the rabbit plush and the framed photo inside the box, Misaki taped it resolutely shut in front of Takahiro. His point was clear: the decision was as sealed as the box. "I want to be with him. How else can we move forwards?"

"I guess… Do you really have to go back to that particular apartment, though?" Takahiro asked, a note of big-brotherly anxiety creeping into his voice. "Maybe it would be safer for you both if you moved somewhere quieter, somewhere with more security…"

Misaki understood his worries; Usagi-san's address was common knowledge in the area, and since the story of him and Misaki went viral, there had been a notable increase in unwanted visitors skulking around the condominium. Twice already, the author had had to call the police.

Even so… "I don't think I can do that," Misaki admitted. If there was anything he needed to stabilise himself after the craziness of the last month, it was a familiar place to return to. Usagi-san's lavish condo now felt like a sanctuary. "That place is my home."

He meant it, down to his very core. Just the thought of going back there in a few hours made him feel warm and comforted. The spacious yet cosy lounge with the plush couches, soaked in sunlight from the wide windows… His and Usagi-san's laundry drying side-by-side on the balcony just beyond… His lovely, lovely kitchen… The rooms filled with all Usagi-san's stupid toys and knickknacks… Suzuki-san… The soft, king-sized bed they'd be sleeping in tonight…

" _ **Sleeping."**_

Heat flared in Misaki's cheeks and he coughed.

"And anyway," he told his brother hurriedly, "Usagi-san says this is all just a fifteen-minutes-of-fame-type thing, and in a few months everyone will have forgotten all about us."

Takahiro's shoulders relaxed a little, but he still looked doubtful. "I wouldn't bank on it. He used to say that all the time in high school, and look at him now."

Surprised, Misaki looked up at his brother with raised eyebrows; he'd never mentioned anything of this nature before. Takahiro continued to explain, "He'd only just started writing back then, you see, and when he won his first award everyone was calling him a child prodigy. He kept saying it would blow over eventually, but it just kept snowballing, and soon it was hard to even hang out because people were always bombarding us…"

Suddenly- almost as if he'd forgotten Misaki was listening- Takahiro's eyes misted over and stared off into space. A reminiscent smile tugged at his lips.

"I remember one night we went to an izakayas and he got really hammered… He was such a mess that I had to drag him out of there, and when I did there were a bunch of reporters for some artsy literature magazine waiting for him… Pictures they published were priceless, I never let him hear the end of it…"

He chuckled to himself. Misaki's eyes widened. All this time, he'd been assuming that Takahiro was angry; that he still hadn't forgiven Usagi-san and that all the hype around his scandalous relationship with Takahiro's precious little brother was the reason for his odd mood. But could it be that, truthfully…

He was just missing his best friend?

Before Misaki could open his mouth to ask, however, Takahiro appeared to notice him for the first time. He cleared his throat hastily and stood up.

"Uh, anyway," he said, glasses fogging slightly as he grabbed the nearest cardboard box. "Let's get all your stuff down to the car."

"Right."

As Misaki stooped to grab one himself, Takahiro- apparently keen to change the subject- asked, "You think you'll miss the place much?"

"Hmm…" He thought for a moment. The circumstances that had landed Misaki here were obviously not the nicest, and he had more than a few painful memories of the place, but… had he grown attached during his year living here? The first place that was his and his alone?

It was only a moment or two before he hitched the box into his arms and walked out of the door without a backwards glance. "Nah."


	55. Chapter 55

**Not sure about this one, but I hope it's alright. I know last time I promised sexual content, but the chapter was too long, so I'm afraid it'll have to wait until next time.**

* * *

At first, Akihiko thought Aikawa-san's willingness to help spruce up his condo for Misaki's arrival stemmed from the goodness of her own heart. Now, however, he realised she was just eager to dismantle what she called his 'Misaki Shrine', which still creeped her out to no end. Either way, her assistance got the job done faster- Even if she was constantly muttering in a disturbed manner as she cleared away the various Misaki-related clutter.

"I wonder if he'd still want to move back in if he could see this," she said, shuddering a little as she took a framed photo of Akihiko's dark-haired, green-eyed deity off the shelf. "Where shall I put this one?"

Giving the bedcovers a good shake, Akihiko twisted around to look. "Office," he said. It was the picture he used to keep on his desk, to look at whilst he was writing. After Misaki left, its effect on the author had slipped from inspirational to agonizing in an instant. It, like all of Akihiko's other memories of his beloved, had been confined to this room to gather dust for a whole year.

But there was no need to lock them away anymore, he reminded himself. Picking up the engraved fountain pen Misaki had given him one Christmas ( _Dear Usagi-san…_ ), Akihiko tucked it into his breast pocket, smiling faintly. Everything in this room was finally returning where it belonged- Just like Misaki himself.

Humming, Aikawa-san dropped the frame into a small box labelled 'office'. "And this?" she asked, holding up something else: a mug with an obnoxious little cartoon chef emblazoned on it.

"Trash," replied Akihiko immediately. Though she complied- dumping the offending object into a large black bag- Aikawa-san rolled her eyes at him as she did so.

"So petty."

"How is it petty?" he asked. His expression- and his mood- had soured considerably. "It's not like Misaki will want it, either."

Aikawa-san sighed, chucking plush toys into the box with 'bear room' scrawled across it. "You're both being too hard on that poor guy. I know he was kind of a douche, but he saved Misaki-kun's ass at Isaka-san's party…"

"He also gave me a split lip," Akihiko pointed out.

"Yes," she said, "but your father gave _him_ a concussion and sixteen broken bones. Isn't that enough for you to call it even?"

"Not nearly," Akihiko growled.

He'd been surprised Misaki hadn't wanted to take legal action against the mangaka- Or Fuyuhiko, for that matter. He supposed his father had gotten a reasonable comeuppance in the end (the sentence had come to three months minimum, plus a healthy portion of Usami Corp's already diminished funds), but as for Ijuuin, a measly concussion and a few broken bones didn't even begin to compensate for what he'd done to Misaki. If it were up to Akihiko, he'd break every bone in the mangaka's vile body and then some.

 _Don't get all overprotective, now_ , he told himself, still cleaning absently. He'd promised he'd work on respecting his boyfriend's independence. And anyway, Misaki had made it quite clear that he didn't wish to add to the turbulence of their current situation; he just wanted, he'd said, to forget the whole ordeal as soon as possible, and that included both Fuyuhiko's and Ijuuin's assaults.

That much Akihiko could understand. He wanted to forget that his precious Misaki had ever been violated in such a manner, too.

On the subject of Misaki, shouldn't he have arrived at the condo by now? For what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon, Akihiko glanced at the robot-teddy clock (another gift from Misaki) on the desk. He hoped no pesky paparazzi had waylaid him on his way here…

A quiet giggle behind his back caught his attention.

"What's so funny?" he asked, turning around once again to see Aikawa-san smirking at him.

"You are, waiting on tenterhooks for your little boyfriend to get here." At the look on Akihiko's face, she laughed. "What, you think I haven't noticed you checking that clock every minute? I've never seen you so excited. It's adorable."

Unable to deny it, Akihiko let his mouth curve into a soft smile. "I can't help it," he told her. "I can hardly believe he's really coming back, you know? It just seems too good to be true.

"Every day when I wake up now," he went on, both of his hands making unconscious gestures, "there's this brief sort of darkness where I've forgotten everything. And then I check my phone and see a text from him or something, and I remember that he's _mine_ again, and I just…" He let his hands drop, sighing. "I love him so much, Aikawa-san."

The editor's blue eyes sparkled at his sap, but she managed to suppress whatever squealing fangirl antics were evidently trying to burst forth. "Save it for _Junai Romantica_ , Shakespeare," she said, smiling nonetheless as she grabbed a few boxes and made for the door. She called over her shoulder as she disappeared down the hall, "I don't care what Misaki-kun's told me, I _know_ you'll be writing them again in no time… Oh, and hurry and help me put this stuff away before he gets here…"

Happily, Akihiko complied, and together they returned each little treasure to its respective nook or cranny. Perhaps it was just his joy at the prospect of Misaki's return, but he was feeling extra appreciative of Aikawa-san at the moment. Where would he have been this past year if it weren't for her?

He still felt a little bad that he'd inadvertently cost her her job at Marukawa. Then again, he supposed, they were all in the same boat now. Neither Misaki nor Aikawa-san had looked into any new positions now that they'd essentially given Isaka-san the finger, but Akihiko was already considering just re-joining his old company. It wasn't like he'd have any trouble; with all the buzz around him recently, he'd already been approached by several publishers wishing to take him on. Wherever he ended up, he was sure he could pull a few strings and get Misaki in there- Aikawa-san, too, as he was quite certain he'd never find a better editor in all of Japan. For now, though, they'd all wordlessly opted to just wait for the dust to settle.

He'd scarcely replaced Misaki's photo on his desk when there was a _ding_ from the elevator. Immediately, Akihiko abandoned the picture and bounded out of his office to see the genuine article down on the first floor, exiting the elevator with a large cardboard box in tow.

The author was down the stairs in three seconds flat.

"What a gentleman," Misaki said as his boyfriend relieved him of the box. It seemed Akihiko wasn't the only one in high spirits today; the usually reticent Misaki was grinning at him. "You even _cleaned_ the place. Are you feeling okay, Usagi-san?"

Akihiko reprimanded him with a gentle cuff around the head, which quickly turned into an affection stroke of Misaki's hair. His hand slipped down and cupped the man's cheek.

"Welcome home."

They smiled at each other, a pink dusting covering Misaki's cheeks- But a sudden cough made Akihiko pull away with a start. His stomach lurched when he saw the previously unnoticed man standing in the elevator, dark hair and shifty, bespectacled eyes clearly visible over the top of the several boxes he was carrying. Akihiko was momentarily frozen.

"Takahiro," he said, managing to force his gaping mouth into working order. The elder Takahashi gave him a sort of chin-jut in greeting, still not meeting Akihiko's eyes. He was hovering at the threshold of the elevator, as though wary of entering without permission, like a vampire.

With a fleeting glance at Misaki- who was in a similar ditheration- Akihiko finally snapped out of his stunned state and hurried to take Takahiro's boxes; they fumbled rather awkwardly as he passed them over.

"Sorry," Akihiko mumbled, hastening to bring Misaki's luggage into the lounge- More to put some distance between himself and Takahiro than anything. His arrival had caught the author off guard. "Didn't see you there."

Takahiro stuck his hands into his pockets. "No problem. Just, uh, here to give Misaki a hand."

"Right, right…"

The awkwardness in the air was so palpable that even Misaki looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor. Akihiko shot him a glance; why hadn't he warned him that Takahiro was coming? The ex-best friends hadn't spoken once since Takahiro had stormed out of the condo all those months ago, and based on what Misaki had said, his older brother was no less irked by his and Akihiko's relationship now than when he'd first found out about it. Was he here to lay into Akihiko a second time? But… he was just standing there in the elevator.

Never before had Akihiko Usami been at such a loss of what to say, but mercifully, he was saved the trouble; Aikawa-san came trotting down the stairs to meet them, beaming when she laid eyes on Misaki. The younger editor looked equally happy to see her, especially when she bestowed upon him a large box of Kuma Puffs as a 'housewarming gift'. Apparently spotting a diversion from Akihiko's and Takahiro's uncomfortable meeting, Misaki wasted no time in directing Aikawa-san towards the elevator.

"Hey, I don't think you've met my brother, Aikawa-san, have you?"

Takahiro and Aikawa-san bowed to each other, and there was a spark of curiosity in the editor's eye as she gave the elder Takahashi a surreptitious once-over. Of course- unbeknownst to Takahiro- she knew all about him from the days when he, not Misaki, was the object of Akihiko's BL fantasies. She also knew of his attitude towards her favourite couple, and Akihiko could tell from the look on her face that she was wrestling back a snide remark.

"Lovely to meet you, Takahashi-san," she managed instead, a little stiffly. "Misaki-kun's told me a lot about you."

Whether the slight edge on the word 'lot' had registered with Takahiro, Akihiko couldn't tell. "Likewise," he said, and cleared his throat. "Anyway, Misaki, why don't I help you bring your stuff upstairs?"

Akihiko, not keen to prolong the awkwardness any further, would have happily allowed this, but to his utter bafflement Misaki halted his brother in his tracks.

"I got it, Nii-chan. You already carried most of it all the way up here," he said, smiling innocently as he dumped the Kuma Puffs into a confused Takahiro's arms. "Just do me a favour and put those in the fridge for me while I go unpack."

With that, he grabbed a box and hurried towards the stairs; Akihiko was sure he saw him catch Aikawa-san's eye on his way, and she promptly followed suit, ignoring the desperate glares of both other men. "I'll help you, Misaki-kun."

And just like that they were gone, and Akihiko was alone with the man he had once desired; who used to be his dearest friend; who still would be, had it not been for that foolish, drunken mistake one year ago, almost to the day.

He gaped at the second floor landing, where Misaki and Aikawa-san had been a second ago. There was no doubt that they'd left the two of them down here quite deliberately; the question, Akihiko near-screamed inside his mind, was _why_?

Takahiro appeared to be thinking the same thing as he dithered, nonplussed, in front of the elevator. Their eyes met accidentally for a split second, and then they both looked anywhere but each other. An excruciating silence ensued.

The thumping, rustling sounds of unpacking coming from upstairs seemed strangely louder than they should have. Akihiko drew in a long, long breath and blew it out again, and Takahiro polished his glasses on his shirt. The clock on the landing ticked. When it became clear that the other man was not going to make any attempt to break the newly-frozen ice between them, Akihiko- unable to stand it any longer- cleared his throat.

"You're completely better now, I take it?"

Takahiro looked at him, but still didn't make eye contact. "Huh?"

"I mean, after the accident…"

"Oh, right, yeah." A pause. A shuffling of feet. "Um. I never did thank you for looking after Misaki at the hospital."

Akihiko glanced at him, and caught him hurriedly turning his head away. "It was no trouble. I… needed him as much as he needed me that day."

No answer. Akihiko wished he could tell if it was due to embarrassment or anger or whatever else. "We were both pretty worried…" he tried to explain, trailing off as he risked another look in Takahiro's direction. The other man was scratching his nose, his head ducked.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know."

Again, they lapsed into silence (How many minutes had passed? Two? Ten?). Hurt was twanging uncomfortably at Akihiko's heartstrings. He remembered the days when he and Takahiro could greet each other with hugs and beaming smiles; when they could talk into the early hours, about anything and everything, until their voices were hoarse. Now they couldn't even look at each other. For the first time since Misaki had returned to him, Akihiko felt broken all over again. Takahiro had been as much a part of his heart as Misaki was, if in an entirely different sense.

"… pier now…"

At this barely audible mumble, he snapped back to attention. "What was that?"

Takahiro's eyes were still on the carpet. He pushed up his spectacles, coughing a little as he did so. "Misaki. He seems much happier now."

"You think?" said Akihiko, with a slight lift of his brow. On the contrary, the past month had been tough on Misaki; only recently had his anxiety begun to subside. He'd have actually expected- perhaps even wanted- his older brother to be angry.

But Takahiro nodded. "Yeah. I mean, we were both a little rattled by all the publicity, but he's taking it better than I would have thought…

"And he couldn't wait to come back here."

This last part was accompanied by a small hand-wave from Takahiro, who tried and failed to make the confession sound casual. Akihiko tilted his head. "That so?"

"Mm-hm. He was really excited when he was packing up all of his stuff. And, um, it kinda got me thinking. You know, back before… Back when he still lived here, I used to put a lot of pressure on him to move out, be independent, that sort of thing. But now…"

Takahiro's cheeks could now rival Misaki's in their pinkness. Akihiko watched him scratch the back of his head, hardly daring to breathe lest he interrupt him. What exactly was he trying to say?

"I guess he just really seems to feel at home here," he went on, the words coming out in a sudden rush. "More so than he ever did with me, or on his own. A-and… I know that I said some, well, s-some things…" His voice wavered, and a pair of purple eyes flickered momentarily towards the staring Akihiko. "But, perhaps I was wrong. Is what I'm saying, I suppose. I…

"I think Misaki belongs here."

He finished with a small exhale. Akihiko hesitated, unsure of what to make of this odd little speech or the appropriate way to answer. At last, he settled on, "I think so too."

Another nod. The condo was very quiet, the busy sounds from upstairs having inexplicably faded. All that could be heard was the landing clock, which ticked out another thirty seconds before Takahiro suddenly, finally, lifted his head and looked Akihiko in the eyes.

He was too quick for Akihiko to look away- To pretend he hadn't been staring. He held his breath, but to his surprise, there was no contempt lurking behind the lenses of Takahiro's glasses. The look he gave Akihiko was strange, soft. His lips parted several seconds before any words came from them, and when they did, they were barely louder than a whisper.

"You'll keep looking after him, won't you?"

This time, there was no need for Akihiko to hesitate. "Of course."

Before either one of them could say anything else (not that Akihiko had the faintest idea what either of them _could_ say), footsteps broke out on the staircase, shattering the weird spell that he and Takahiro had been under. Misaki and Aikawa-san clattered down to the first floor, toting now-empty boxes and feigning unawareness of the awkward interaction that had obviously taken place in their absence. They were talking loudly, as if to warn the other two of their arrival.

"Really, Misaki-kun, your wardrobe is a _mess_ , you must let me take you clothes shopping sometime…"

"Oh, I couldn't let you do that, Aikawa-san…"

"Nonsense, it'll be a birthday present."

"All done?" Takahiro, glad of the diversion, asked his brother. When Misaki nodded happily, he wasted no time in announcing, "Well, in that case, I should probably be off. I'll see you tomorrow for your birthday."

"So will I, Misaki-kun- We'll burn all those awful hoodies of yours," said Aikawa-san, winking as she grabbed her handbag. After bowing curtly to Takahiro, she ruffled Misaki's hair and (though it took a fair amount of grappling with the snarling Akihiko) planted a smacking kiss on her author's cheek before swishing her way to the front door, leaving the three men alone in the apartment.

"Thanks for helping, Nii-chan," said Misaki, sharing a brief, one-armed hug with his brother as Akihiko scrubbed lipstick off with his sleeve.

"No worries," said Takahiro gruffly. With his apparent incapability to look anyone in the face, he didn't notice how Misaki's eyes kept flickering, almost expectantly, between him and Akihiko. He stepped back into the elevator. The author, still rather bewildered, was about to bid him a strained farewell when Takahiro's finger suddenly paused on the way to the elevator button. Akihiko saw him take a breath, shoulders rising and falling. "Hey, Usagi?"

Hearing that nickname from him had Akihiko momentarily stunned. "Yes?" he answered dumbly.

Hands still deep in his pockets, Takahiro scuffed his feet against the floor of the elevator, looking uncharacteristically childish. The glare of light on his glasses obscured his eyes.

"Wanna go out for a drink this weekend? Maybe?"

If there was one time in his life Akihiko could accurately use the phrase 'his jaw dropped', it would be now.

"Uh…" Takahiro still wouldn't look at him, and so he turned his dumbfounded gaze towards Misaki, who gave him a vigorous, encouraging nod. Shrugging, he turned back to Takahiro. "Uh, yeah. I'd love to."

The other man did look up then; his expression was almost as surprised as Akihiko's, as if he'd been thoroughly expecting a rejection. After a moment or two, he offered what looked like an attempted half-smile.

"Cool."

Without lingering another second, he pressed the button, and the doors closed in and obscured Takahiro's bright red face from view.

* * *

"I really thought he'd be pissed at me," said Akihiko later that evening, sitting on one of the deep, pink couches and holding a cigarette thoughtfully to his lips. The sky outside was a twilight orange. Most of Misaki's stuff had now been properly unpacked; the editor himself was in the kitchen, tossing veg and noodles around in a frying pan. The aromas wafting over were mouth-watering.

"So did I, at first," he replied. He smiled widely at Akihiko over the counter. "But in the end, I think he was just as eager to make up as you were, Usagi-san."

Grunting in response, the author exhaled a long plume of smoke, his eyes glazed and gazing off into space as though in a stupor. It seemed there was a new surprise around every corner this month. So, Takahiro had really missed him, too… After all this time, was there a chance he could regain his best friend as well as his beloved?

For the first time since Takahiro had left, happiness overpowered the shock Akihiko was feeling.

"Do you think you'll talk everything over properly when you see him?" Misaki asked, deftly sprinkling various spices into the stir-fry. "Or will you just draw a line under it, like we did?"

Akihiko thought for a moment. "Hard to say, really," he said. "I suppose we'll just have to see how it goes."

"Mm. Well, in any case, I'm really glad you're giving things another go." Pausing his actions for a moment, Misaki glanced around the whole apartment as if absorbing it all- just he and Akihiko, alone at last in a home that was theirs once more- and let out a contented sigh. "I feel like everything's finally back to normal."

Upon hearing this, Akihiko grinned. One year ago, a drinking date with Takahiro was the kind of thing that might have made Misaki jealous. "Me, too." Stubbing out his cigarette, he rose from the couch and prowled his way into the kitchen, where he slipped his arms around the apron-clad Misaki's waist. The food smelled so good from here that he nearly drooled on the man's shoulder. "God, I've missed your cooking."

"And I've missed your kitchen," Misaki replied. One of his hands reached out and stroked the sparkling surface of the counter fondly; he'd been complaining of the lack of space in his apartment's kitchenette for weeks. Then, jabbing Akihiko's broad chest with the handle of the spatula he was holding, he added, "And I don't want it catching fire on my first night back, so scoot, Rabbit."

At this Akihiko only tightened his arms. "Nope. Recharging." After all, his Misaki tanks had been on 'empty' for a whole year. He had a _lot_ of filling up to do…

Misaki, of course, was of a different opinion; before either of them knew it, they were engaged in one of their classic vertical wrestling matches. "Usagi-san, I'm going to burn the-" he grumbled, fumbling to turn down the gas. He tried to pry Akihiko's hands from his waist, twisting and writhing, and the larger man smirked wolfishly, these tussles of theirs being one of the many things he'd missed about having Misaki here in his home. He refused to release the man, even as his wriggling turned to thrashing, snickering as he was thrown back against the opposite counter with his captive tangled up in his arms.

"Usagi-san, will you _get… off…_ "

And then he stopped. All of a sudden Misaki's slim shoulders were shaking, and Akihiko's heart gave a panicked lurch, thinking he'd unwittingly gone too far and upset his beloved. Only when he listened more closely to the sounds Misaki was making did he realise he wasn't crying, but laughing quietly.

Akihiko raised an eyebrow. "Laughter? That's new."

Still, he was smiling himself as he turned Misaki around to look at him. The editor's cheeks were flushed- half from the effort of trying to break free, and half from his mirth- and he was grinning somewhat sheepishly.

"Sorry. It's just, it's kinda funny, isn't it?" he said, and as he raised them to Akihiko's his green eyes were sparkling beautifully. "It's like we've turned back time or something. I mean, we haven't been like this-" He gestured at their intertwining limbs, "- in so long, and it used to annoy me, but now it just seems… normal. I thought moving back in would take weeks of getting used to, you know? But it's like I never even left.

"Why doesn't it feel weird?" he wondered.

The smirk on Akihiko's face had softened into a gentle smile. He kissed Misaki's forehead, moving his lips to the man's ear so he could whisper there.

"Because this is how it's _supposed_ to be."

Even with his eyes closed, he could tell his declaration had Misaki blushing furiously; he could feel his ear burning against his lips.

"Corn dog," Misaki muttered, and disentangled himself. Even so, Akihiko noticed, he was unable to keep the corners of his mouth from twitching upwards as he hurried back to the stove. "Come on, let's eat."

Akihiko watched him dish the stir fry into bowls, feeling every fibre of his being sigh with happiness. Tonight was only the beginning. There were so many new experiences, mysterious possibilities and precious times ahead for them, he and his darling Misaki. And something told him they began as soon as the two of them finished dinner and headed upstairs to the bedroom…

Just thinking about it made his stomach do an excited flip.

* * *

 **Steamy stuff to come next time, I promise. (Though no full-on lemons, like I said).**

 **Now that we're nearing the end, you might be wondering what comes next after 'Mistakes'. There's one more chapter of this thing to go, and then I have a long-overdue Romantica request to write, but when that's done I'm going to have to take a break from fanfic to focus on my A-Level exams. I'll be back as soon as they're done, but I probably won't write any more JR stuff for a while- There's other fandoms I want to try writing fic for (stay tuned, Yuri on Ice fans...). There's a list of all my future projects on my profile if anyone's curious.**

 **In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed the update, and I'll see you guys next time for the very last one (!). As always, thank you very much for reading, and please leave me a review if you have the time. :)**


	56. Chapter 56

**It's the final update! I can't believe it!**

 **Thanks all for waiting; I had a bit of writer's block with this one (like I said, sexual content is one of my weaker areas) but I really hope you enjoy it. After this chapter there's a short epilogue, and then that's it. :O**

 **I don't think this chapter is explicit enough to be rated M; it's more build up and emotional description than anything else. Still, a few warnings to bear in mind:**

 **\- Heavily implied sexual situations**

 **\- Slight OOC**

 **\- Excessive mushiness**

 **I hope you enjoy. :)**

* * *

It was a peaceful evening. They ate, they drank, they argued about Usagi-san not eating his peppers, and they laughed more than either of them had in a whole year combined. The sunset melted into a clear, velvety night, and by the time they rose to clear the table together, Misaki felt like the world was right-side-up again.

"It won't be long until everyone finds out I'm living here," he mused, elbow-deep in suds as he washed while Usagi-san dried. The author had offered to do all of the cleaning up himself, but Misaki still didn't trust him with anything breakable.

He paused, dishcloth in hand. "Is that bothering you?" he asked, concern already pinching his brow.

"Not really," Misaki answered. Even so, there was a frown on his own face as he passed Usagi-san a bowl. "I just hope no more weirdoes come causing you trouble because of it."

He already knew his presence here was bound to attract more intruders hoping for a glimpse of the celebrity couple, no matter how many restraining orders they issued. It had been one of Misaki's few reservations about returning to the penthouse. Usagi-san, however, merely smiled as he set the dried bowl down on the rack, looking not the slightest bit bothered at such a prospect.

"If it means I can have you back home where you belong, then any amount of trouble is worth it."

For what felt like the hundredth time that evening, Misaki felt a hot flush flooding to his face. He looked at Usagi-san, whose expression was utterly sincere.

"How do always say stuff like that with such a straight face?" he wondered aloud, mumbling slightly. Drying his hands off with the cloth, Usagi-san shrugged as if it were the simplest question anyone had ever asked him.

"Because it's the truth."

Misaki quirked an eyebrow, his mouth twisting to the side. Usagi-san didn't break eye contact- Daring him, it seemed, to disagree. When he was satisfied Misaki wouldn't argue, his smile widened, and then he suddenly leaned in and kissed him.

Misaki, his hands still in the water, melted into him without even thinking, the dish he was holding slipping slowly out of his grasp. The older man's lips were soft and gentle. Warmth bloomed within Misaki at their touch, but it wasn't the usual, humiliated kind that always drove him to push Usagi-san away. It was welcoming. He'd been feeling the same sensation more and more over the past month with Usagi-san, rising in him with each kiss and embrace, and now he noted absently just how different it was to the way he used to feel back when they were keeping their relationship a secret.

 _I really don't mind this anymore_. It didn't matter what people thought of him and Usagi-san, he realised. He just wanted to be with him.

Slowly, they drew apart and looked at each other. It didn't take long for Misaki to notice the author's eyes; they were hazy, clouded with something more than innocuous affection. The heat began to spread.

"I…" said Misaki eventually, and then paused to lick his lips; they were dry all of a sudden. "I'm really glad I'm home with you, Usagi-san."

"As am I," came the murmured reply.

That small, constantly nagging part of Misaki's brain was now on overdrive- _What are you doing? Why are you_ gazing _at him like that? This is so embarrassing!_ \- but it was muffled when mouths met once more, harder and more urgently this time. The next thing Misaki knew, strong arms were around him, pulling him closer, and he had to grab onto them to steady himself. Water splashed over the edge of the sink and soaked into Usagi-san's rolled sleeves.

Misaki pulled his lips away. "Your shirt-" he began, but Usagi-san cut him off once more with another kiss, taking advantage of his open mouth to seek Misaki's tongue out with his own. They slid over each other, warm and wet, and Misaki quickly lost himself in the sensation despite barely being able to breathe. Usagi-san wasn't being gentle anymore; his mouth moving against Misaki's was rough and impatient. It was all Misaki could do to match his pace, slick fingers tightening around his muscular upper arms. He didn't object, but it was a little startling. It felt… different somehow.

Abruptly, they came undone, each of them panting a little. Misaki realised his heart was hammering strangely. He looked up at Usagi-san, who still had that vaguely fogged-over look in his eyes, but as they met Misaki's they cleared. His expression changed to something almost sheepish.

"Misaki… I'm sorry," he said, surprising the younger man. He stepped back a little, although he still didn't release him. "I just…"

He sounded dazed and unsure; not like Usagi-san. Misaki tilted his head. "You just?"

"I don't know.

"I've been alone in this place for so long," he went on unexpectedly. Misaki frowned, confused, and Usagi-san offered a hesitant smile. "I thought it would be that way for the rest of my life, after you left. I suppose it only just hit me that you're here now. I just wanted…"

"What?" said Misaki, seizing the rare chance to be the one doing the teasing. "To make sure I wasn't gonna disappear again?"

Although he'd only meant it as a joke, the smile on Usagi-san's face became a sad one. He felt a stab of guilt, even as a large hand reached up to stroke his hair.

"I'd dream about you a lot," Usagi-san explained, quietly. "I'd think you were back with me. And then I'd realise I was dreaming, and I'd be afraid to wake up, because every time I did, I'd have to remember that you were gone all over again."

His words gave Misaki's heartstrings a painful tug. Now with an expression of utmost seriousness, he moved his hands up to Usagi-san's shoulders and pulled him forwards, bringing him down until their foreheads were touching. His cheeks were burning, but he didn't care.

"You know I'm never going anywhere ever again, don't you?"

Usagi-san was still for a moment. Then the smile slanted into a smirk. "Look who's saying corny things with a straight face now."

This time, Misaki did shove him away- Or at least he tried to, but Usagi-san held fast, grinning. And there he was trying to be sweet… Even though he was annoyed, Misaki was kind of relieved to see the old spark of mischief return to his rabbit's demeanour. He seemed back to normal now.

That being said, _Misaki_ didn't feel back to normal at all. He couldn't believe the lack of embarrassment he felt, even when Usagi-san's lips and tongue found their way back to his, or when those large hands began to wander. In fact, the closer Usagi-san held him, the more of him he touched and tasted, the more _restless_ Misaki seemed to grow. He found his own hands trailing up the curve of Usagi-san's spine and tangling in his hair, forgetting that they were still wet. The heat in his body was getting a little uncomfortable. Before he knew it, Usagi-san had him backed up against the kitchen counter, kissing him hard and pressing their chests together, and he wasn't doing a thing to stop him. Then a knee drove itself between his legs, and Misaki- unable to help himself- let out a loud gasp as his hips jutted forward of their own accord.

Usagi-san stopped, his eyes wide. He stared at MisakHe i, who stared back, only just realising what had happened, and _now_ the embarrassment came flooding in, sending his already heated temperature skyrocketing. He averted his eyes before that annoying smirk could reappear on the older man's face. They both knew exactly what had caused Misaki's involuntary reaction- And now that he was thinking about it, it was only making matters worse.

 _Dammit_ , he thought, shifting awkwardly. _Am I that desperate for it?_

They had yet to take things all the way since their reunion a month ago. In fact, neither of them had even spoken of it once. They both _wanted_ to; that much had been painfully obvious from the start. After a whole year apart, the two of them were starved, craving each other like a man stranded in the desert craves a swallow of water. Misaki could feel it in every touch, see it in every moment of fleeting, subtly suggestive eye contact. There had been many occasions over the past few weeks where they'd come close, but they always stopped themselves; it seemed they'd wordlessly agreed to wait for a better time, when the moment was just right, when the publicity had died down and they were safe from all the prying eyes.

But there were no eyes on them now except each other's. They were in the safety of their shared home together- alone. And it was a special night for them. So…

His heartbeat doubling in pace, Misaki tentatively raised his head again to see Usagi-san still looking down at him, the haze in his eyes having returned twice as dark as before. His chest was rising and falling heavily against Misaki's. He could feel the author's skin through the damp patches on his shirt, and it, too, was fevered.

"Misaki," he began, his voice low and husky- But he was interrupted. A tiny, polite _ding_ from above broke them out of whatever stupor they were in, causing them both to look up: the landing clock, chiming the next hour. It was midnight.

Usagi-san turned back to Misaki and smiled. "Happy birthday."

Oh, yeah. He was twenty-three. "Thank you," he answered dumbly.

Another pause. Lavender eyes narrowed ever so slightly as they surveyed Misaki, crawling over his form in a way that sent tingles shooting up his spine.

"So," said Usagi-san, leaning just a little closer, "would you like your presents now, or later?"

 _He's baiting you. Don't swallow it- No, don't start playing with his tie!_ "Maybe… just one now?"

"Alright." Closer. Misaki could smell the man's body soap and aftershave, feel the purr of his voice deep in his chest. "Any preference?"

Misaki's own chest was tight. He could barely draw in enough air, and when he tried to speak his voice was strained and breathless.

"I'll leave it up to you."

Usagi-san's grin was like that of a wolf, and never had a wolf looked so damn alluring. "Very well."

They kissed again, Usagi-san stepping forwards and leaning Misaki backwards over the counter. When he felt the sharp edge digging into him, however, he pulled away.

"But," he said through his uneven breaths, "I don't want it here."

A pair of raised eyebrows encouraged him to go on. His face positively aflame, Misaki swallowed.

"Upstairs," he managed, without making eye contact. "Bedroom."

There was only a second's pause before Misaki was lifted, the arms that had been around him now holding him firmly against Usagi-san's lean torso. He clung on immediately, and then he was being carried towards the stairs and the tingles multiplied. At last… After all that waiting. He could already feel the stirrings of arousal deep down.

 _God, I_ am _desperate._

Usagi-san, too, was looking down at him in surprise. "Someone's gotten awfully decisive," he commented as they began to ascend.

"Oh, shush," said Misaki. He settled his legs more securely around the author's waist. "I told you I'm done playing games, didn't I?"

To prove his point, he tightened the arms encircling Usagi-san's neck and, though he was shaking with shyness, leaned in and began pressing kisses to the supple skin there. He swore he heard Usagi-san's breath hitch; his pace quickened as he carried Misaki upstairs. The younger man, emboldened, continued his gentle forays along the author's jawline, inhaling the heady scent of his aftershave as he sucked and nipped and occasionally darted out with his tongue. His tsundere side was going hysterical, but Misaki knew that part of him would have to be suppressed tonight; things had changed, and he needed his rabbit to know that he really, truly wanted this.

And since he couldn't tell him that in words, he'd have to show him.

So far, it seemed Usagi-san was getting the message, as he wasted no time in getting them both through the door into the dimly-lit bedroom. Misaki's teeth were latched onto his neck at that point. When he was lowered onto soft sheets and pillows, he tried to pull away, but a large hand on the back of his head stopped him.

"Keep doing that, I like it," Usagi-san said- murmured, really. He sounded strangely awed, more so as Misaki complied. "Hell, I like _you_ tonight, Misaki. If I'd known you were going to be like this, I don't think I could have waited so long."

Though it was true that Misaki rarely gave Usagi-san such treatment- He rarely gave him _anything_ , now that he thought about it- it still seemed an odd thing to say after just a couple of neck kisses; it wasn't like Misaki was doing a striptease for him or anything. "'M only biting you," he said, slightly slurred as his tongue was currently quite preoccupied.

"I know," Usagi-san said, between kisses of his own, "but you're…"

"I'm what?"

"Different. Good different."

The statement both unnerved and encouraged Misaki. He didn't recall ever feeling quite so impatient as he sucked and kissed more fervently (he wished Usagi-san weren't fully clothed; there wasn't enough skin to get at). When he was finally pushed back into the pillows so Usagi-san could return the gratification, he was surprised to see several reddening marks blooming on the author's neck. He didn't think he'd _ever_ left marks before. The sight of them was weirdly satisfying.

Even so, an even greater wave of pleasure washed over him as Usagi-san resumed control, as was the norm for them. He relaxed into the pillows with a sigh, basking in the sensations he hadn't experienced in far too long: lips moving gently but urgently against his neck, the hot wetness of Usagi-san's tongue, the slight scrape of his teeth raising goosebumps. Misaki tipped his head back to allow the author more access, appreciating as he did so that he was now all but drowning in the man's warm and musky scent, which permeated the bedroom as it always had. How he'd missed this room… The intimacy of it, its embodiment of all things Usagi-san. As their hands roamed around each other's bodies, Usagi-san's creeping under the hem of Misaki's shirt, he cracked his eyes open to briefly take in his surroundings. There was Suzuki-san, having been booted carelessly to one side to make way for them; there were Usagi-san's childish trinkets, taking up every shelf and surface and looking as ridiculous as ever; and there was all Misaki's stuff, too, his family photo on the nightstand, his manga slotted beside Usagi-san's novels. Something about seeing his personal items nestled in amongst his rabbit's- back where they belonged- caused happiness to well up inside him. It looked like _their_ room again.

His thoughts were interrupted when Usagi-san- having sampled every inch of Misaki's skin available- lifted his head to reclaim the younger man's lips. He moaned with enjoyment as their tongues collided messily, raking his hands through Usagi-san's hair and over his back. With his attention returning from his emotional state to his physical one, he suddenly realised how unbearably hot he was, even in his short-sleeved shirt. His pants, in particular, were getting very uncomfortable. He shifted beneath Usagi-san, knowing that his rabbit must be suffering too- He was in a vest and tie, for God's sake.

"Usagi-san," he gasped between wet, breathless kisses. A low grunt was his only response, and he had to push the man above him back to gain his attention. A strand of saliva connected their lips briefly before Usagi-san licked it away, and Misaki shivered at the thought of that tongue licking other parts of him.

"What is it?"

He sounded strained, just like Misaki. Red-faced, the smaller man sat up a little, running his hands over Usagi-san's clothed chest. He could feel skin burning through the thin fabric.

"Um," he said, but found he couldn't muster any words, so he just began undressing the man, tentatively unhooking his tie with trembling hands. Usagi-san, once again, appeared shocked- never was Misaki _ever_ more impatient than him- but he was only too happy to comply, smiling as he unbuttoned his vest.

"I feel like I'm dreaming again," he remarked, shrugging out of the garment and tossing it on the floor, where the tie soon joined it. Misaki grumbled, but it turned into a sigh of relief when Usagi-san removed his T-shirt, allowing cool air to envelop his torso. Wanting to return the favour, he pulled the hem of Usagi-san's own shirt from his pants and began working at the buttons as quickly as he could; he'd only undone two or three before Usagi-san simply lifted his arms, allowing him to pull it over his head and discard it.

Once he'd done so, Misaki's breath left him.

It wasn't even the first time in a week or so he'd seen Usagi-san shirtless. In fact, it was a sight he so loved to discreetly devour with his eyes, to record in his memory, that Misaki could summon a near perfect image of his author's bare chest in his mind's eye at will. But something about seeing those broad shoulders and firm pectorals and sculpted abs _now_ , in the flesh, each curve and hollow accentuated in the half-light, sent tingles coursing through Misaki's body in a way no mere memory ever could. Blood raced below his waist as he laid his hands against warm skin. Usagi-san's chest heaved under them, his heart below hammering. Cool fingertips were touching Misaki, too, dancing over his back, and he looked up to see Usagi-san's eyes looking more entranced and lustful than ever.

Heat curled low in Misaki's abdomen (how was he already this needy?) and he bit his lip to keep from cursing. Usagi-san, seeming to read his mind, crept one of his hands towards the front of Misaki's pants, which were now feeling painfully tight. He stopped and looked up when he reached the zipper.

"Can I?"

Misaki's eyebrows shot up- Damn, every part of his body was up. "Are you asking permission?"

"I'm just making sure," Usagi-san said. Though his eyes were ravenous, they still brimmed with that doting adoration reserved only for Misaki; it made his heart speed up. "I wasn't lying when I said things were going to be different. I want tonight to be all about you."

The huskiness of his voice seemed to reverberate all the way through Misaki. _He's seriously been holding back_ , he though. And all for Misaki's sake… Feeling a powerful surge of affection for his rabbit, Misaki made a silent resolve right then to make this as amazing as he possibly could for him.

Lying below Usagi-san, he shook his head. In response to the author's puzzled expression, he sat up further, hands still resting against Usagi-san's muscular chest.

"Not just me," he whispered. "Us."

Without giving Usagi-san the chance to say anything- It would probably just embarrass him further- Misaki took a deep breath and leaned in. The combined scent of the man's body soap along with his natural pheromones was intoxicating as Misaki scattered kisses, slowly and shyly. He felt the arms around him tighten as he nipped along Usagi-san's collar bones, his shoulders, his pecs… Anywhere he could get at. He wanted to make him feel just as good as he always made Misaki feel.

"Misaki…"

Hearing his name hissed like that was so strange to Misaki's ears, but it also filled him with a sense of power, especially when he saw that he'd already managed to raise goosebumps on the author's skin. Usagi-san was apparently too stunned to move, having frozen in place even as Misaki left more marks on his chest. His ear passed over the man's heartbeat; it was thunderous.

It was only when Misaki- very, very cautiously- ran his tongue over one of Usagi-san's nipples that the author came back to life, releasing a sharp exclamation. Misaki nearly stopped out of surprise. He couldn't recall ever making Usagi-san cry out like that; who'd have thought it would be so easy?

" _Fuck_ , Misaki…" Leaning down, Usagi-san began to nibble the younger man's ear, murmuring to him as he unzipped and unbuttoned his pants. "Why do you have to pick now to start being all sexy? I'm barely lasting as it is, you know."

Seeing the effect such simple gratification had on Usagi-san, Misaki felt guilty that he hadn't given it more often before. Still, the approval in the man's tone made him a little less nervous. He closed his mouth around the sensitive bud, working it with his tongue whilst his fingers wandered up to play with its twin. He was nowhere near as skilled as Usagi-san was at this, but he tried to mimic him, doing everything he always did to Misaki that made him such a mess during sex. Judging by the way Usagi-san's nipples hardened at Misaki's touch, he was doing an okay job- Though, it did get harder to concentrate when Usagi-san removed his pants and underwear, finally freeing Misaki from their confines. He gasped loudly, pulling his mouth away.

"Don't stop," Usagi-san pleaded, tossing Misaki's clothes to one side.

The heat and pressure Misaki was feeling down below were intense. He did as Usagi-san asked, but substituted his mouth for his other hand, his breath was so short. He was surprised when he looked up to see Usagi-san in a similar state; he was usually so cool and collected with this sort of thing. Was it just because it had been so long? Or was it really Misaki's doing?

"Does it…" he panted. "Does it really… feel good?"

"It does," Usagi-san replied. His eyes had been closed, but they suddenly opened and looked intently into Misaki's, causing him to falter.

"But don't worry. I'll make sure you do, too."

Another surge of excitement crashed over Misaki as he was laid carefully down, so that he was lying beneath Usagi-san once again. His skin was flushed and glistening with sweat. Amethyst eyes studied it with care as Usagi-san hovered over him, looking at Misaki like he was something miraculous.

"God, you're gorgeous."

" _Usagi-san_ …"

"I mean it," he said. Slowly, his hands reached out and travelled along his now completely naked body, cupping Misaki's face and trailing over his chest and stomach, caressing him so delicately. Misaki heard a quiet sigh escape him. "I thought I'd never see you like this again… Have you here with me… Wake up or fall asleep beside you…"

Their foreheads touched. Misaki felt the man's breath tremble against his lips.

"I spent so many nights awake here… Longing for you… I was so lost without you, Misaki…"

Misaki wanted to answer him. He wanted to say that he, too, had been lost without Usagi-san; that he too had longed for him in the late hours of the night; but he was too choked up. He had a sudden vision of Usagi-san here in this bed, alone, curled around himself as he gasped out Misaki's name. The ache in his heart became another jolt of arousal, shooting straight southwards.

Usagi-san must have noticed him stifling moans; the next thing Misaki knew, there were fingers stroking him, impossibly cold against that most sensitive part of his body, and this time he couldn't stop himself from crying out.

The sounds he was making seemed to be affecting Usagi-san; he pressed himself closer. "You're already so wet…"

Misaki's skin felt like it was smouldering with both want and embarrassment. He glared at Usagi-san, though it was hard to school his features with those expert fingers still handling him.

"Oh, shut up," he managed to growl. His sides were heaving. Desire and exhilaration rushed through him. "It's… It's been too long since I've-"

And then there was a sudden, sickening jolt as the voice in Misaki's head drawled, _**Now, Misaki, that's not strictly true, is it?**_ Then Usagi-san's hands were gone, replaced with unfamiliar, tepid ones, and he could smell pungent, spiced cologne instead of soap and cigarettes, and the eyes on him were not soft lilac ones, but dark blue and filled with greed.

He froze. Any trace of pleasure dissipated, and surging in to replace it came shame, scorching as molten lava. Above him, a concerned voice called out, "Misaki?" He barely heard it.

His body was tainted. He was supposed to belong to Usagi-san, and yet he'd given himself up to another. How could he lie here in Usagi-san's bed like this, exposed, offering him the same flesh that had been marred by someone else's hands and mouth? He was filthy.

This was what Misaki told himself. The rational part of his mind told him he was being ridiculous, it didn't matter, this was supposed to be about him and Usagi-san and no-one else, but no, it was too late, Usagi-san had seen the look on his face and realised what he was thinking, and now the mood was completely shot and Misaki had ruined everything, it was all his fault, he-

"Misaki."

The softness of his voice pulled Misaki slowly back to the present. He looked up. Usagi-san's face told him that he understood, but the tender kiss that he pulled the younger man into told him much, much more. Lips parted Misaki's, so very gentle, and green eyes widened as Usagi-san swept his tongue over Misaki's, the roof of his mouth, every little crevice, until the flavour of him completely eradicated the sour taste that had formed there. Cleansing it.

Misaki knew what Usagi-san was trying to tell him with that kiss. Grateful tears welled in his eyes as he closed them and kissed back.

"I love you, Misaki," Usagi-san said when they drew apart.

 _I love you too, Usagi-san. I love you so much. Thank you. Thank you._

It didn't even matter that he couldn't say it aloud. He knew Usagi-san knew. Though his vision was blurred with tears, he could see the smile on his rabbit's face quite clearly; that smile he always saved for these moments of deepest intimacy and vulnerability; the one that made Misaki feel so precious, so wholeheartedly accepted and adored, that it seemed insane that just minutes ago he was thinking himself soiled and dirty. But most of all, it was a smile that made Misaki realise once again that everything was fine; he had Usagi-san, Usagi-san had him, and nothing else was important.

What happened beyond that point was a haze to Misaki. He knew only that his heart felt weirdly soft and full inside his chest, and that a tiny, happy sob escaped him as he closed his eyes, and that the tear that slipped down his cheek was kissed away as Usagi-san moved in. Misaki was wrapped in his warmth. His scent. His everything. The heat rekindled within him and ignited, growing with even the faintest touch from the man; the ghosting of his cool fingers over Misaki's skin… The press of his lips, each kiss more passionate than the last… The wetness of his skilled tongue… The graze of his teeth, marking Misaki as Misaki had marked him, claiming him as his, and no-one else's... Then his hips were grinding against Misaki's, hard, and Misaki was writhing desperately against him, his back arched, the friction unbearable, and his hands were gripping Usagi-san's hair and they were gasping and groaning each other's names, Usagi-san loved him, Misaki loved him too, and the pleasure was too much, he was going to burst with it, and then Usagi-san's mouth was on his neck, his chest, his stomach, lower, and, God, finally, _finally_ …

They shared a connection unlike either of them had ever known that night. It was more than having sex, even more than making love; they opened up their very souls to each other, more wholly and completely than ever before. They didn't just take, they gave, as much as they possibly could. They gave themselves to each other, and along with that, a promise: that the red string binding them would never again be broken.

And as they joined each other for the first time in a year, they fell over the edge together.

* * *

It was twice before Misaki couldn't go on anymore. Three times before Akihiko actually stopped. Neither of them lasted very long- and who could blame them?- but the sensations as they revelled in each other were so intense that they seemed to Akihiko to last for hours and hours. It was the best kind of torture. When they finally collapsed, panting and shaking, in a heap together, Akihiko- who was sweaty, breathless and exhausted- was sure he had never felt better in his life.

Now he lay right in the centre of the huge bed, Suzuki-san as his pillow, sleepy eyes watching the stars twinkling outside the window as he enjoyed the post-passion bliss while it lasted. Misaki was draped over his chest. A skinny leg was hooked around one of Akihiko's long ones, rubbing their ankles together, and his head rested right above the author's breast bone. Probably listening to his still-declining heartbeat, Akihiko thought. He smiled down at his beloved one, his index finger tracing lazy patterns over the smooth skin of his back, studying the sweet face that had been contorted with rapture just minutes ago. Misaki's eyes were closed, and his body was heavy and limp as a rag doll's on top of Akihiko's. The picture of serenity.

It had been such a relief to see him accept Akihiko completely, despite that moment of obvious doubt; the author couldn't stand it if this treasured unity between them was spoiled by Misaki's painful memories. When he'd seen the understanding in those beautiful eyes- the realisation that Akihiko would always love him unconditionally, no matter what- he'd been happy beyond measure.

But Misaki had done more than just accept him tonight. He'd been so _open_ , in ways Akihiko had never seen from him before. He recalled, with a pleasant shiver, each and every loving kiss Misaki had pressed upon his body, the way he'd touched him, the fiery, emerald blaze of his eyes as he gazed up at him, wanting to sear the memories into his mind. His free hand wandered up to one of the marks on his neck; he wished it would never fade.

Misaki shifted on top of him, nestling closer to steal more body heat, and Akihiko turned to kiss his still-damp forehead.

"You were amazing tonight," he murmured dreamily.

"Weren't too bad yourself," Misaki, half-asleep already, mumbled back. He let out a long, satisfied sigh. "Man, it's nice to have a real bed again."

"It's certainly a lot better with you in it," Akihiko said into his hair.

After a moment or two, Misaki opened his eyes and looked up at him. They were glassy with fatigue, yet still a little shy.

"Um," he said, coughing. "Thanks. For my... present. I really needed it."

 _Hell, Misaki, so did I._ Instead of answering with this, Akihiko settled instead for, "I could tell." Then, out of the corner of his mouth, "You finished in record time."

He laughed when a pillow struck him full in the face. Misaki huffed, but stayed wrapped up with him even so, looking far too adorable with his face smushed against Akihiko's chest for his grumbles to carry any real anger.

"Way to kill the mood, stupid rabbit."

Offering another kiss in recompense, Akihiko nuzzled thoughtfully into dark locks. After a while, he added somewhat hesitantly, "Would it be killing the mood even more to point out that this is still very much a honeymoon phase we're in, and soon we'll be getting on each other's nerves and arguing all day again?"

Misaki yawned. "Not really," he said. "I already knew that."

"And?"

"And I'm looking forward to it." A small foot gave Akihiko a half-hearted kick. "It's too weird not yelling at you every five minutes."

"I'll do my best to restore balance by being as irritating as I possibly can."

Scoffing, Misaki shuffled over onto his side; Akihiko did the same, facing him, and Misaki curled up in his open arms.

"Goodnight, you idiot."

"Sleep well, my love. Happy birthday."

He clicked out the bedside lamp, drew the blankets over both of them, and settled down to watch Misaki by moonlight. Within minutes, his breathing became deep and even. Only then did Akihiko close his eyes, burying his face in silky, sweet-smelling hair as he drifted off. His sleep was long and deep, filled with nothing but Misaki as the night's events played in his dreams on loop.

* * *

 **Read on for the epilogue, which ties up all the loose ends.**


	57. Chapter 57

Misaki's cheeks were red with frostbite as he struggled through the front door of the condo, laden with shopping bags and bundled in thick, woolly layers. He dumped the groceries in the entryway to take off his coat; Usagi-san, sitting a few feet away on the couch, eyed them suspiciously.

"Those aren't green peppers, are they?"

Rolling his eyes, Misaki hung his coat up and started peeling off his hat, scarf and gloves, shaking melting ice crystals from each garment as he did so. "Hey, Usagi-san. Sorry I'm late- It was snowing like crazy when I left the supermarket."

It seemed the author must have been absorbed in his laptop, because he looked outside at the ashy, December sky as if he'd only just noticed it.

"You should have called me, I'd have picked you up."

"Don't worry about it." Stepping out of his shoes and into the inviting warmth of the house, Misaki grabbed the plastic bags and carried them past the couch and into the kitchen, stopping to peck Usagi-san's cheek along the way. Then, because it felt weird not to, he said, "I was already close by. I stopped by Ijuuin-sensei's after work."

Even from behind the counter, he could see the dark shadow that fell over Usagi-san's eyes. "I had a feeling that's where you were."

"You're not gonna get all jealous, are you?" he said, opening cupboards and stowing tin cans away. Usagi-san had been surprisingly agreeable when Misaki had told him he wanted to remain friends with the mangaka, but he still never tried to hide the fact that he wasn't happy about it.

Over in the lounge, Usagi-san rested his elbows on the coffee table, linking his fingers together to support his chin.

"You know I trust you," he said, eyes closed. "I just don't trust him."

A sigh escaped Misaki at his boyfriend's paranoia- But at least he wasn't trying to squeeze every little detail of his encounter with Ijuuin out of him, like he might have done last year. That, for Usagi-san, was progress.

"He sacrificed sixteen perfectly intact bones so we could get back together," he pointed out, more for reassurance than anything else. "I think that's proof enough that he's done messing with us. Anyway, I only went to give him a Christmas present, since we'll be at Nii-chan's next week."

This had the desired effect; Usagi-san perked up considerably at the prospect of spending Christmas with the Takahashis. Per family tradition, Misaki and his brother spent the holiday together every year, and previously this had meant that Usagi-san could never make any big romantic gestures towards his boyfriend. Now, of course, this was no longer a problem.

Misaki was glad he'd be there with them, too. Usagi-san was one of the family.

Tapping away at his laptop, Usagi-san glanced over with an expression of only mild interest. "So, how are those bones of his, just out of curiosity?"

"Good as new, almost," Misaki replied, kneeling to fill the large cooling box with vegetables. He hid the green peppers at the bottom, so Usagi-san wouldn't see them and throw them out. "Apparently the physiotherapist said he'll be able to start drawing again soon."

A particularly complicated injury to Ijuuin's right hand had forced Marukawa to put _The Kan_ on hiatus for several months while it healed. Misaki still felt guilty, but the mangaka didn't seem to hold any kind of grudge; he'd actually told Misaki he was enjoying the break.

From the lounge came Usagi-san's fond voice. "Shame he'll be down a top-notch editor when he does."

Straightening, Misaki grinned. "Actually, he told me he convinced Kirishima-san to give Shizuku his old position as sub-editor back. I didn't have to rat on anyone, after all!"

There was a small frown on Usagi-san's face as he twisted to look over the back of the couch. "Don't you think that poor kid has a right to know what he did to him, though?"

"Yeah." Misaki had almost said the same thing to Ijuuin, but decided against it. "But it's up to sensei whether he comes clean or not."

Usagi-san shrugged and turned around again. "Fair enough."

He carried on typing. Misaki, still cold and imagining Usagi-san was the same after sitting in one place all day, put some water on to boil while he got out cups and tea.

"How's your work going?" he asked. "Onodera-san seemed really happy with your manuscript so far."

Misaki's new boss, he'd discovered, was far more invested in what his artists produced than Isaka-san had been. Just this week, he'd described Usagi-san's new romance novel as 'the purest and most heartfelt tale of true love he'd ever laid eyes on', and congratulated Misaki himself for providing the author's inspiration for such a work of genius. This was because Usagi-san, when announcing the upcoming project, had publicly (and embarrassingly) declared Misaki his muse, and with their relationship still a fairly hot topic throughout the country, the book was set to be a huge bestseller. Onodera-san had surely anticipated this when he readily agreed to hire the famous couple.

Not that Misaki minded; he was happy at Onodera Publishing, and it seemed Usagi-san was, too. He'd been working unusually hard at his new manuscript.

"It's shaping up to be quite the masterpiece, if I do say so myself," he said, smirking to himself as he typed. "I think it might even sell more copies than-"

He stopped abruptly. Misaki, stirring tea, glanced at him. "Hm?"

"Never mind."

Shrugging, Misaki carried both mugs over to the lounge and passed one to Usagi-san, who accepted with a grateful smile. He leaned against the back of the couch, peering over his shoulder to read- and stopped, his face falling.

"Usagi-san."

"Yes?"

"If this book of yours is such a masterpiece," he said, a muscle in his cheek twitching, "why the hell are you playing _solitaire_ instead of writing it?"

A silver head tipped backwards to look at him. It bore a deadpan expression.

"I get lonely when you're not home. It's a lonely man's game."

Sagging, Misaki fought the urge to empty his hot teacup all over the idiot rabbit's face. And there he was thinking Usagi-san had turned a new leaf, working hard all day…

" _Honestly_ , don't use me as an excuse to procrastinate!" Setting his cup down and stalking away from the couch, he added in a grumble, "Thank God Aikawa-san was allowed to stay your main editor- You'd never get anything done without her."

"And you," Usagi-san reminded him, still playing his game.

Misaki tutted. "Yes, and you _still_ cease to function if I leave you alone for a day. I mean, look at the mess you've made of this place after I cleaned it this morning!" he said, gesturing to the scattered books and paper littering the lounge. It was then that he noticed several envelops, unopened, sitting in the wastepaper basket beside the door, and hurried to retrieve them. "You even tossed all the mail without reading it again! Geez, you're hopeless…"

Ignoring Usagi-san's careless chuckle at his boyfriend's nagging, Misaki began sifting through the mail; whenever the author did this, something important always ended up getting thrown out if Misaki didn't rescue it.

Something fluttered out of the pile and landed at his feet. Misaki stooped and held it up to the light; it was a small, white envelope with a gold trim, addressed to himself and Usagi-san.

"Hey, what's this?"

Usagi-san looked up. "Oh, yeah. I completely forgot to tell you about that."

Carefully prising open the flap, Misaki pulled what looked like a dainty, gilded card from the envelope. He flipped it over. Writing in a curling, almost illegible script adorned the other side, and he had to squint to read it.

 _Dear Akihiko Usami and Misaki Takahashi,_

 _You are cordially invited to celebrate with_

 _ **Sakae Yamato**_

 _and_

 _ **Haruhiko Usami**_

 _as they join in marriage on 14/05/17. RSPV._

Misaki's jaw dropped.

"Wait, _huh_?!" he spluttered, his bulging eyes glued to the invite. "That woman- Haruhiko-san- Your fiancée and your brother? Getting _married_?!"

"Ex-fiancée," Usagi-san said. Having won his game of solitaire, he stretched, stood and wandered over, leaning in Misaki's shoulder to read the invite. "And as it turns out, it was Haruhiko she liked from the start.

"All that about her being a fan of my books was complete bullshit," he went on, taking the card from Misaki and examining it. "Yamato just made her pretend because he'd only do the deal with my father if it was me she married- He didn't want an illegitimate child in the family."

Blinking in astonishment, Misaki took the invite back; he, too, scrutinised it like Usagi-san had, barely believing it to be real. "So it's an actual, serious marriage this time? Not another scam?"

"You really think my father and hers would try that again, with all the shit they're in?" Usagi-san replied, laughing (Indeed, the prison sentence might have ended, but the negative repercussions for Fuyuhiko and his company certainly hadn't). "No, Sakae-san and Haruhiko arranged this one themselves. Yamato's furious- Apparently, they were even seeing each other in secret the whole time we were planning the first wedding."

Misaki was torn between gaping in shock and giggling at the thought of Yamato's fuming, purple face. "How do you know all this?" he asked Usagi-san.

"Oh, she told me over the phone last week, after Haruhiko proposed- It must have slipped my mind." Smiling happily, Usagi-san went on, "She also said the one book of mine she tried to read was the most insufferably boring thing she'd ever experienced. She and my dear brother are a match made in heaven."

This time, Misaki really did giggle. "Wow. Guess that explains why she sabotaged the party."

"All the better for us," Usagi-san hummed. He gave Misaki's waist a quick squeeze. "What's for dinner?"

Misaki grinned at him. "Take a guess."

The grin widened when he saw the look of pure horror in Usagi-san's eyes. The author grimaced at him.

"Please no. Anything but that."

"Do some work, and maybe I'll reconsider," Misaki trilled. He bounded off towards the stairs, still with the invite in hand, fighting back laughter when he heard Usagi-san's groan behind him.

"Where are you going?" he called.

Without turning around, Misaki waved the invite above his head. "To put this someplace safe, so you won't lose it."

 _Or throw it away on purpose_ , he added in his head, making for Usagi-san's study. He knew his childish boyfriend wouldn't want to go to the wedding- it was hard enough dragging him to his _own_ celebrations, let alone that of his ex-fiancée and the half-brother he hated- but Misaki was determined not to let him wriggle his way out of this one. It was the least they could do to repay Sakae-san for the way she'd helped them.

Besides that, Misaki was happy for her and Haruhiko-san. And Ijuuin-sensei, and Aikawa-san, and everyone else. Everything was turning out like it should.

 _Usagi-san's still getting extra peppers tonight for not working on his manuscript, though,_ he thought, and cackled to himself. Just as attending the wedding would be his way of thanking Sakae-san, keeping the troublesome author in check would be Aikawa-san's recompense.

He strolled into the study, looking around for somewhere to stow the invite. He didn't come in here very often; where was a safe place? More importantly, where was somewhere Usagi-san would see it, so he wouldn't forget like he always did?

His eyes fell on the desk, and then on the drawer just beneath it, where Usagi-san kept research materials handy when he was working in here. Perfect.

He approached the desk, smiling and cringing at the same time when he saw the photograph of his own face, which Usagi-san liked to keep there when he was writing 'for motivation'. It was as dumb as it was endearing. Opening the drawer, he made to place the invite inside, right on top of all the other papers in plain view- when something suddenly snagged his attention.

It was just a plain, white envelope. Nothing unusual or eye-catching about it. The only reason it caused Misaki to stop and frown was because the handwriting on it was oddly familiar. And the name it was addressed to…

 _The name…_

* * *

Desperation to avoid an evening with the taste of bell pepper clinging to his mouth compelled Akihiko to do some actual writing after all. Not that this was actually all that difficult; he couldn't recall the last time he'd enjoyed working on a project so much. Even _Blood and Cherry Blossoms_ didn't compare. He was only halfway through the new manuscript, and yet he knew it was going to hold a special place in his heart.

One of the reasons the book was so highly anticipated- besides all the buzz surrounding his and Misaki's relationship- was that it would be the first of Akihiko's novels to star a same-sex couple. Or at least, one that wasn't cheap jerk-off material for teenage girls. The new story featured real, profound love between the two male protagonists, and being able to write about it freely filled Akihiko with a thrill he hadn't felt in far too long in his years as an author.

But of course, Akihiko was only able to write about such a love in earnest because he'd experienced it himself. And that was the best thing; he didn't have to hide that anymore. Everyone who read the book would now, finally, do so with a true understanding of the soul that Akihiko had poured into it. Only now did he realise that this was all he'd ever really wanted when he wrote.

He already knew that the book was going to have the effect he wanted; that the readers would feel the unique brightness that only love could bring into his life. Aikawa-san- whose judgement he trusted more than anyone else's- said she could see it shining through his words.

And it was all thanks to his Misaki.

Though, now that he was thinking of Misaki, hadn't he been gone for quite a while? He only went to put the invitation away.

 _Maybe he's hiding it so I won't be able to throw it out_ , he thought, closing his laptop and rising from the couch to go look for him. In all honesty, however, he wouldn't actually mind attending the wedding- if only to see the pissed off faces of Fuyuhiko and Yamato. Akihiko could hardly think of a more fitting comeuppance for the two of them.

He reached the top of the staircase, frowning when he couldn't hear Misaki even as he strained his ears. He stood on the landing, calling the man's name. A moment or two of puzzling silence passed, but then Akihiko heard the squeak of a door behind him. He turned around.

What he saw caused both confusion and concern to well within him. Misaki was standing at the end of the hallway, just outside Akihiko's study, his hand still on the door handle and his head dipped. Dark bangs obscured most of his face, but as Akihiko approached he saw that it looked rather red. Almost as if… he'd been crying?

"Misaki?" he said, his brow creased. "Are you okay?"

He stopped just short of him, unsure if he should touch him or not. Misaki was still for a while- seemingly gathering himself- but then he lifted his head and looked at Akihiko.

The author was stunned. For there were indeed remnants of tears sparkling in Misaki's lush, green eyes, but not a trace of sorrow showed on his face. Quite the opposite. Akihiko watched with wide eyes as it split into a beaming smile.

"I'm great."

He blinked, but before he could say anything, Misaki had grabbed his hand and begun pulling him back towards the staircase. "Come on, rabbit. Let's have a movie with dinner tonight."

"Okay," was Akihiko's bemused response. He eyed his boyfriend as they descended. His hand was warm in Akihiko's, and he was _glowing_. What had gotten into him all of a sudden? Should he ask?

He glanced back at the closed door of his study. Something weird must have gone on in there. Come to think of it, Akihiko felt like he was forgetting something very important to do with that study, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what…

Shrugging, he went downstairs to pick out a movie while Misaki cooked. It didn't really matter, he supposed. It would come to him when the time was right.

Nothing else was off for the rest of the evening. The only slightly unusual thing as far as Akihiko could tell was, as they snuggled under a blanket whilst the snow piled up outside, the light of the TV screen and their hot drinks and the dinner trays on their laps warming them, he couldn't find a single green pepper on his plate.

* * *

 **Aaand... that's a wrap.**

 **... I really shouldn't be this emotional about the completion of a trashy yaoi fanfiction.**

 **Sorry to dump even more sap on you with this A/N, but there's something I'd like to say to everybody who has read, followed, reviewed and supported 'Mistakes' in any way:**

 **Even though this is just a fanfiction, I feel like sharing it with you has helped me come a long way in terms of my passion, writing. What started with one chapter I was almost too afraid to post is now 436 pages, 167,488 words long and has over 700 lovely comments from you guys. Not only is it the longest thing I've ever written, it's the first of my writing I've shared with anyone, and I'm so glad I did. The encouragement I've received from you has made me feel not so alone.**

 **So thank you, my readers, followers and reviewers, for giving my story a chance, and for letting me share my silly little fangirl's brain with you. Whether you've been here for the whole ride or jumped on somewhere along the way, I hope you enjoyed it; it feels great to finally be able to mark it as complete, and while I definitely made a few 'mistakes' of my own with this thing, I'm happy with the way it turned out. I'd love if you guys could let me know of your overall opinion, too. (I know I haven't been good with replies lately, but I'll definitely respond to every review to say thank you!) :)**

 **Right, I'm done being mushy now. :P This isn't really goodbye; I'm planning lots of other fanfic projects- for JR as well as other stuff- and I may also be keeping some kind of blog this summer to share original writing and fanart, so keep an eye out for that. I hope I'll hear from some of you guys in future.**

 **But for now, one last time: Thank you very, very much for reading, everyone.**

 **Lots of love, Squid. X**


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